


Year Four

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Sam at Hogwarts [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Hunting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's his fourth year at Hogwarts and everything's going wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Sam actually got letters over the summer - from Blaise, Theo, Millie, Crabbe. Midway through the summer, Pansy sent him a clipping from the _Daily Prophet_ with the headline _Werewolf at Hogwarts!_ and a picture of Lupin looking angry. The note she included read, _Can you believe it? Our best Defense professor wasn't even human!_

Sam skimmed the article, which called for Lupin's resignation, before he scribbled back, _Think he's going to leave? He's the best we've had._ , attached it to her owl's leg, sent it off, and hurried out. They were going after an alp-luachra, a newtlike creature that crawled down the mouths of sleeping campers to eat their half-digested food. Sam was playing bait, so his dinner was incredibly salty - it was the only way to force the newt to leave his stomach.

Summer flew by. They visited Diagon Alley on August 31 to get Sam's school supplies, including dress robes (Sam bought emerald-green ones from the discount rack) and then they got the now-traditional bottle of strawberry wine and talked about hunts and personal lives, which were so intertwined with Lianne and Christina they could speak about killing kelpie and going to a nice dinner in the same breath. Lubricated with wine, Sam let slip the way Theo and Millie both made his stomach flutter. Lianne and Christina grinned and peppered him with questions about the two of them until Sam finally managed to change the subject to _their_ former partners. Lianne told him about trying to date non-hunters and usually being dumped for being too 'unpredictable' or 'flighty'. Christina mentioned she'd been dating a girl for over a month before she got into hunting, and had broken up with her to focus on dealing with her family's deaths.

"I dated a guy once," Christina said thoughtfully.

"Really?" Lianne asked.

"Yeah. I was fourteen, all my friends were. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Came out when I was seventeen, and so did he."

Sam and Christina giggled at the thought. "You dated him for three years?" Lianne squeaked.

"Yeah, well, kept my parents off my back, and he never really pushed for anything more than sitting on the couch and watching movies. Mum and Dad thought we just kept the PDA down when they were around."

"How was it being a beard?" Christina asked.

"Oh, it was great. And having a beard was even better."

Lianne laughed. "Bet that was fun."

"Oh, yes. They almost caught me and Martha Jones when I was seventeen...passed it off as studying, but I'm not sure they were convinced. Didn't ask me about it, anyway."

Sam shuddered at the thought of John finding him with a boy. Lianne saw and said, "So! You're learning magic at that fancy school of yours. Show us something?"

"Um. What do you want to see?" Sam asked, caught off-guard.

"I want to see that dementor thing. Patron, right?"

"Patronus," Sam said. He looked at their eager faces, took out his hand, and murmured, _"Expecto patronum._ " His wolverine shot from his wand, landed at his feet, looked around, and did a lap around the room, jumping off of nothing.

"That's so cool," Christina said, eyes lighting up.

"Will it withstand a physical attack?" Lianne asked, fingering a sheathed knife on the table.

"No idea," Sam said, twitching his wand to bring the Patronus to heel. It sat at his feet.

Lianne brought the knife down fluidly, stabbing it deep. The silver rippled, but the wolverine gave no hint of noticing. They tried it with knives made of different materials; not once did it twitch.

"Useful," Lianne said approvingly.

"And kinda useless, too, if it can't attack anything but dementors," Christina said dryly.

Sam dissolved his wolverine, oddly protective of it.  
***  
On the train the next day, all anyone could or would talk about was the Quidditch World Cup. Sam, who had skipped the vast majority of the Quidditch matches at Hogwarts with barely a pretense of regret, soon grew bored and decided to try to find some of the other people he knew.

He found Harry, Ron, and Hermione in one compartment. Harry and Ron were discussing the World Cup spiritedly, while Hermione had her nose buried in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4._ Sam blinked, half-wishing he'd thought to do that, then dismissed it. He'd always gotten by all right. He just hoped the dementors were gone this year. The lights being lit before noon didn't help his anxiety at all - the year before, they'd done the same when the dementors had come along.

Ginny Weasley was in a compartment, talking with another Gryffindor girl and a Ravenclaw about the same age. Sam knocked and opened the door. "Hello, Gin."

"Hi, Sam!" she said happily. "Did you hear about Sirius Black? His trial's coming up."

Sam closed the door and took a seat next to the Ravenclaw. "I didn't. When?"

"September 15. He's in a temporary holding cell until the trial - he flat refused to go to Azkaban again."

"I wonder why," Sam said sarcastically. "So you're all in your third years now?" 

It was a stab in the dark, but they all nodded. "I'm Luna Lovegood," the Ravenclaw told him.

"Sam Winchester."

"Perri Vanklaus," said the other Gryffindor girl, looking at Sam in a way that was vaguely uncomfortable for him.

"So what electives are you taking?" Sam asked them.

Ginny was taking Care of Magical Creatures, Luna Arithmancy, Perri Ancienct Runes. All three were taking Divination.

"Ah, Divination," Sam said wistfully. "Don't let Trelawney scare you lot. If a class goes by without predicting someone's death she thinks it's a missed opportunity."

"Really?" Perri asked, shifting forward so their knees pressed together.

Sam scooched back to give her room. "I don't think she ever stopped telling me I was gonna die."

Ice broken by casual mention of his impending death, they started comparing teachers. It seemed they'd all liked Lupin, too, and his final had been an obstacle course for them as well. Snape was universally hated. Sam was laughing at a description of Flitwick's robes being set on fire by a student trying to perform a Skurge Charm on a desk when the fifteen-minute warning came over the PA system.

Sam made a face. "I need to go change," he said. "I'll see y'all around."

He caught a carriage with his Slytherin friends, and as he had in years past, he stopped to pat the thestral that pulled the cart while the others climbed in. He had applied a waterproofing charm before he'd left the train, so the water pouring from the skies slid right off him.

"Can you imagine crossing the lake in this?" Blaise asked when they were underway.

Sam looked outside and shuddered. "One of them's going to drown," he said gloomily.

"Is that a prophecy?" Theo joked.

Sam laughed and shook his head. At the end of the previous year, he'd had such an intense vision in the common room he'd seized. "Nah, man. When I have a vision, my nose starts bleeding."

"Oh, is that what that was last year?" Millie asked interestedly.

"Yeah," Sam said. "And the dementors didn't help."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Blaise asked.

Sam sighed and looked at his lap. "Because I only ever see death," he said quietly. "I see blood and guts and brain spatter. If I saw the outcome of Quidditch matches, that would be one thing, but I don't. I can't - I don't want to put that on you." Millie didn't need to know she'd die from having her throat cut because Sam was too slow to protect her, arterial spray spurting onto the grass. "So. Marco do anything fun?" he asked Blaise brightly. His little brother was seven now, and his day care had its hands full with him and the other wizard children. Sam couldn't imagine taking care of thirty kids all doing accidental magic.

By the time they entered the foyer, they'd moved on to Pansy's trip to Scotland. Sam heard cackling and looked up for the source just as a red water balloon dropped onto his face and burst, covering him with water. Waterproofing charm still in effect, Sam looked for the culprit. Twenty feet above him, a little man with a malicious smile and a garishly orange bow tie floated. _Peeves,_ Sam thought.

The poltergeist normally gave him a wide berth, following the example of the other ghosts, none of whom wanted to cross paths with a hunter - even one as young as Sam. Sam had warded a bathroom against him once, but by and large they stayed out of each other's way. Now Peeves took aim and fired again, hitting Ron Weasley, who had just come into the Entrance Hall.

"PEEVES!" an angry voice bellowed. "Peeves, come down here at _once!_ "

They hurried into the Great Hall and out of the line of fire before they got a look at who was screaming. Sam surveyed the hall and felt himself relax, inch by inch. The golden tableware, floating candles, transparent ceiling, hundreds of students, bed waiting for him on the floor below - this was the most stable environment he'd ever known. Growing up on the road, unable to make friends, and then being dropped amongst hundreds of students and left to muddle through, Sam had flourished here. As wonderful as it was to spend time with Lianne and Christina, Sam missed knowing exactly where he was going to sleep at night.

He slipped into a seat between Theo and Millie, smiling at Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy across the table. They all grinned back, and then as one, they looked up at the staff table, checking off who was and wasn't there. Most of their usual teachers were there; McGonagall wasn't, but she was presumably waiting for the first-years to finish crossing the lake with Hagrid, who was also absent; Dumbledore was looking at them all like a kindly, mind-game-playing grandfather; and there were no new faces.

"Where's the Defense teacher?" Pansy whispered.

"Who knows?" Sam whispered back. "Maybe they couldn't find anyone. Three teachers in three years, who wants those odds?"

At that moment the doors opened, admitting the first-years. They all looked like they'd fallen in the lake; one of them was wearing Hagrid's overcoat, which was several dozen sizes too large for him.

The Sorting Hat sang its song and the Sorting began. Malcolm Baddock became the first new Slytherin, and was followed by two more boys and four girls. When the Sorting finally ended with Kevin Whitby, who became a Hufflepuff, Dumbledore stood. "I have only two words to say to you all. _Tuck in._ "

The platters filled with food, and they ate and talked happily until the last bit of dessert faded from the plates in front of them and Dumbledore stood once more to give out the usual start-of-term notices: banned items, Hogsmeade visits, no magic in the corridors.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

" _What?_ " Draco gasped, struck with horror.

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

BANG.

Everyone turned to look at the doors. Lightning forked across the sky as they set eyes on the newcomer, standing in the middle of the great double doors. Shrouded in a black cloak as they all were, he leaned upon a long staff. After a short pause, he lowered his hood to reveal dark grey hair atop a heavily-scarred face. Part of his nose was missing, as was one eye, which had been replaced by a large prosthetic with an electric-blue iris. The prosthetic moved independently of the other eye, which was small and dark.

The stranger moved forward; on every other step, there was a _clunk._ One of the man's legs had been replaced with wood.

He reached Dumbledore, who shook his hand and spoke quietly to him before gesturing to the empty chair to his right - McGonagall's normal place. The man sat, speared a sausage with a knife he drew from his pocket, and began to eat. His mannerisms and battle-scarred appearance reminded Sam of the old hunters he'd met before, the ones who had been fighting so long there was no trace of humanity left in them.

The blue eye rolled all the way back into his head, showing only the white, and Dumbledore said brightly, "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody?"

He and Hagrid clapped; Sam collected his thoughts and brought his hands together once or twice, but most of the student body was too surprised to react. None of the other teachers applauded him either. Moody pulled out a hip flask and drank, apparently unconcerned with his cool welcome.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying, we are the have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're _joking!_ " one of the Weasleys twins yelled, breaking the silence. Most everyone laughed, partially in relief that some things never changed and the Weasley twins' spirits were as indomitable as the earth.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar" - McGonagall cleared her throat loudly - "though perhaps this is not the time...no...where was I? 

"Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament. For those of you unaware, the Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

 _Death toll? ___Sam thought, alarmed. His alarm wasn't shared by anyone else; all of his friends were staring at the teachers' table, eyes wide and faces gleaming with excitement.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand galleons personal prize money. Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage students hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His eyes lingered on the Weasley twins. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. 

"And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop-chop!"

Dumbledore sat, tossed his long white beard over his shoulder, and turned to converse with Moody. The hall filled with the sounds of several hundred people all moving in the same direction at once.

"No one under seventeen!" Draco said.

"Well, if people have died," Sam said with a shrug.

"Would you put your name in, if you could get away with it?" Blaise asked him. "I would."

Sam considered for barely a second. "Nah. I want a quiet year this time. No basilisks, no escaped convicts. Just a year of education."

Theo snorted. "Then you, my friend, are in the wrong school," he informed Sam, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

That night, as they readied for bed, Sam let his mind slip along those lines. He'd convinced the judge he was of age somehow, and Theo and Millie pelted onto the field to congratulate him - he'd won the tournament. One of them pressed their lips to his own; he wasn't sure whose, and he wasn't sure he _cared_ -

He shoved the thoughts away, mentally shaking himself, and climbed into bed. Theo didn't join him, but then, there was no reason for him to. The dementors were gone.


	2. The Triwizard Tournament

The first day of term this year was a Monday, which meant Sam's first class was Arithmancy. He waved to his friends; all but Millie and Crabbe, who were taking Ancient Runes instead of Divination, had a free period. There were only five people in his Arithmancy course - himself, Hermione, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, and Ernie MacMillan.

They played a review game. Hermione dominated handily in the facts-based segments, whereas Sam was better at linking together disparate ideas. They each won twenty points for their respective houses; Terry, Lisa, and Ernie won ten for Ravenclaw and five for Hufflepuff.

Sam had Divination directly following Arithmancy, and he climbed to the top floor and up the silver staircase leading to the heavily-perfumed, sweltering-hot classroom littered with beanbag chairs and tiny couches.

"Welcome back, my dears," Trelawney said warmly from her usual armchair close to the blazing, incense-fueled fire. "It is time for us to consider the stars."

Sam took notes rapidly as she talked them through the influence of planets on lives. Near the end of the lecture, she looked at Sam. "I fear, my young friend, that what you dread will come to pass quite soon."

Sam met her gaze impassively. This woman had predicted his death for the entirety of the year before, and he was still breathing. He put very little stock in her prophecy.

Looking irritable, Trelawney passed around circular charts, directed them to the pages in their textbooks with timetables, and ordered them to fill in the position of the planets at the moment of their birth. It was fiddly work, requiring calculation of angles and consultation of the planets' timetables.

"I've got Neptune in the left quadrant," Blaise muttered. "That can't be right."

Sam frowned. "I've got Saturn, Jupiter, the moon, and the sun."

"That's _definitely_ not right, then," Pansy said.

"I know." Sam crumpled up the page with his calculations on it and started over. 

At the end of the class, Trelawney assigned them a detailed analysis of the way planetary movements would affect them in the coming month, with reference to their own charts. On their way to lunch, Theo looked at Blaise. "Make it up in the common room?" he suggested.

"Definitely," Blaise answered firmly.

Care of Magical Creatures followed lunch. It was such a gorgeous day Sam left early and strolled down, savoring the ability to walk to Hagrid's hut without being affected by dementors. It was warm enough he took off the long cloak and stuffed it in his bag, then rolled the sleeves of his shirt up - he'd gotten new clothes over the summer, so his new uniform was a few sizes too large. He sprinted a few yards for the sheer pleasure of it, and it occurred to him he really could start running again.

He took a circuitous route down, stopped to look over the lake at the Giant Squid battling a hawk, and made it to class just as the Gryffindors did. Hagrid, a man twice the size of any Sam had ever met before in both height and girth, had one hand on the collar of his equally oversized boarhound, Fang. There were crates scattered around the dirt, with bangs coming from them.

"'Ello, Sam," Hagrid said cheerfully. "Best wait fer yer friends ter come down...they won't want ter miss this."

"What's 'this'?" Sam asked.

"Yeh'll see, yeh'll see."

"How was your summer?" Hermione asked him.

"It was fine, yours?"

"We went to the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys."

"How'd that go?" Sam asked, mostly to be polite. He was sick of Quidditch talk.

From the way Hermione looked at him, she knew it. "It was Quidditch. Did you hear about what happened that night?"

"No," he said.

"Death Eaters attacked. They put up the Dark Mark."

Not since he'd first changed continents and lifestyles had Sam felt so uncertain. "The- Death Eaters? Aren't those, uh, oh, wait, I know this-"

"Followers o' You-Know-Who," Hagrid said grimly. "An' the Dark Mark is wha' they put up when they killed."

Sam swallowed. "So who-"

"Nobody died," Hermione said hastily. "The Muggles got quite a fright, but they were Obliviated, so they don't remember anything."

"That's awful," Sam said.

"Yeah," Hermione said. Awkward silence reigned for about ten seconds before Lavender Brown said brightly, "So! Triwizard Tournament."

They turned to the new, lighter topic with relief. "Who d'you think is going to be Hogwarts's champion?" Seamus Finnegan asked.

"Bet it's a Gryffindor," Parvati Patil said. "We are daring, after all."

"Yeah, but Slytherins are ambitious," Sam pointed out. "We've got the drive to win. Y'all are too chivalrous to play dirty."

"At least we don't step on people to get to the top," Harry shot back, but he was smiling.

"Oh, low blow," Sam said, laughing. "Slytherins think things through before we, say, go into a forbidden corridor to do battle with V- You-Know-Who." He barely caught himself before saying the name - British wizards were funny about it.

"We didn't know it was him, did we?" Ron said indignantly. "He was hiding in the back of Quirrell's turban!"

"Oh, is that what happened?" Sam shook his head in mock regret. "However could I have missed that?"

"'Ello there!" Hagrid cried happily. They all wheeled around to see the Slytherins coming toward them. It was such a nice day they were carrying their cloaks over one arm rather than sweat.

"Hi!" Millie called back.

"All righ', now that we're all here," Hagrid said. "We're doin' Blast-Ended Skrewts today."

"Come again?" Ron asked blankly.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates; Lavender cried out, "Eugh!" at the sight of them.

'Eugh' summed up their features nicely, Sam thought. Pale, slimy lobsters with no visible head climbed around and over each other, a hundred to a crate, legs sticking out at odd angles on their six-inch bodies. Sam wasn't even sure which side was the back and which the belly. They smelled of rotting fish, and every so often one would shoot sparks from one end and shoot across the box. They bumped into each other and the crate indiscriminately.

"On'y jus' hatched," Hagrid said, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves. Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" Draco asked, bewildered. "What do they _do?_ "

Hagrid looked stumped for a moment, then pulled himself together. "Tha's nex' lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff''rent things - I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer. I got ant eggs and frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake - jus' try 'em out with a bit o' each."

No sooner had Sam lowered a two-inch length of snake into the box than a skrewt exploded on him, burning his hand badly. He swore and sucked on the mark.

"Sam?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"You good?"

"Yeah." He pulled his hand free and examined the skin. "It burned me, that's all."

"Eurgh!" Lavender cried. "Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," Hagrid said. "I reckon they're the males. The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies, I think they might be ter suck blood."

Lavender pulled her hand from the crate quickly, and the entire class switched to either hovering the food in with their wands or tossing it into the crates haphazardly.

After Care of Magical Creatures came Transfiguration - McGonagall welcomed them back with an impressively long lecture - and then dinner. Rather than spend the evening inside, they elected to fill napkins with various desserts and go out to the lake, where they lay in the last rays of the sun, played Exploding Snap, and shared around the sweets.

It was the most idyllic beginning to a school year Sam had ever had, and he did his best to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him it wouldn't last.  
***  
He slept poorly that night, tossing and turning. His nose didn't bleed, so he had no idea which bits of his night were visions and which bits were plain dreams. He gave up on sleep around four and dressed quietly for his morning run in the bathroom.

Midway through his second lap around the castle, Fang ran up to him, tongue lolling out. Sam paused and scratched his head; Fang licked his face enthusiastically until Sam said, "All right, go back to Hagrid, ya silly little mutt." Fang turned with a yip and ran back towards his master's cabin, tail wagging furiously.

He showered and redressed in his school uniform for Potions, which was followed by Transfiguration. Neither Snape nor McGonagall set them to practical work, choosing instead to lecture for an hour and a half apiece. 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch, however, Moody decided on a more demonstrative approach. He took role and launched into a lecture on curses.

"Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?" he asked.

They all looked at each other unsurely; then Pansy raised her hand. "The Unforgivables."

"Which are?"

"Imperius, Cruciatus, and Killing."

"Right. You'd be Parkinson?"

"Yes, sir."

Moody grunted and reached into his desk to pull out a jar of spiders. He set it down, pulled one out to rest on his hand, and muttered, " _Imperio._ "

The spider began to dance, cartwheeling on the desk, swinging from a thread of silk, doing backflips. Everyone else began laughing; Sam was suddenly, uncomfortably ten again, hunting a rage ghost and getting caught by it. He remembered beating his fists against the inside of his mind, trying to get free, screaming to be let out, out, _OUT!_ , except nobody could hear-

Something hit his head, and he flinched. "You'd be Winchester?" Moody demanded.

Sam blinked, struggling to process the words. There was a crumpled spider on his desk, almost certainly what had hit him. Sam dragged himself back to the classroom - birds outside the open windows, the breathing of eight other people, the quiet tap of the spiders scuttling around the jar.

"Well?"

"I - uh - yeah. Yes. I'm Sam Winchester."

Moody grunted again. "Pay attention, Winchester, or you'll get somebody killed one day."

Sam flinched.

"Cruciatus Curse," Moody said. "The Torture Curse. Causes unbearable pain. When used for a prolonged amount of time, it can cause insanity." He lifted another spider from the jar, enlarged it, and whispered, _"Crucio."_

The spider's legs curled against its body. It rocked back and forth. Sam could half-hear its imagined shrieking in agony, and wondered for a mad moment if it would hurt more or less than the basilisk's bite.

He abruptly lifted the curse and put the spider back in the jar. "Pain," he said quietly. "You don't need thumbscrews or the rack when you’ve got the Cruciatus handy. And now, the last. The Killing Curse. There's no blocking it and no countercurse. Only one person has ever been known to survive it, and he's at this school right now."

He picked up the third spider, placed it on the desk, and whispered, _"Avada Kedavra._ "

A flash of green light, and the spider curled in on itself, unmistakably dead.

"This is a very efficient curse," Moody told them. "And it's a curse that need a fair bit of power behind it. Every one of you could take out your wands, point them at me, and speak the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"If there's no countercurse, no blocking, why am I showing you? _Because you've got to know._ You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he bellowed, and Sam, already on edge, nearly fell out of his seat.

They spent the rest of class taking notes on the Unforgivables, the use of which would earn a life sentence in Azkaban. When the bell rang and they were dismissed, Sam packed up slowly, still trembling slightly.

"Winchester, is it?" Moody said. "Come with me."

Millie, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy shot him startled looks. They, too, had loitered, waiting for him so they could all walk down to dinner together.

"You lot go ahead," Moody said. "I need to talk to the American. Come on, lad, let's go up to my office."

Sam followed him to an office in the formerly-forbidden third-floor corridor. There was a trunk along one wall and a mirror with shadowy figures on another, and a desk with two chairs in the center of the room. Other than that the office was bare.

"Have a seat, Winchester," Moody ordered, stumping to sit behind the desk. "Tea?"

"No thanks."

"That's right, you lot drink coffee, don't you?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"All right then." Moody lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. "Would you care to tell me what happened in class today?"

"Sorry?"

"Don't play dumb, boy." Moody leaned back in his chair, making it creak. "Dumbledore told me you were a hunter."

"Yes, sir."

"That have anything to do with your reaction to the Imperius Curse?"

"Um," Sam said, stalling for time. His mind ticked. He didn't want to talk about it; Moody looked like he'd force him to if he kept back.

"Talk to me, boy," Moody said.

That decided him. "I'd really rather not. If that's all you wanted, I'll be-"

"Stay," Moody ordered. "You know, I've read your file. I've read your _dad's_ file. I know what you've done. You've been fighting for half your life at this point. And growing up magic in a family of hunters can't've been easy."

Sam kept silent, trying to keep his face in an expression of polite disinterest and probably failing miserably. Dean always had teased him about his poker face, or lack thereof.

"That's good, boy, that's good. Stiff upper lip and all that." Moody picked a small bronze ball from his desk and idly tossed it back and forth in his hands. The hair on Sam's neck prickled uncomfortably. "No need for it, but good. I'll keep an eye on you. Things get bad, you come to me, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said. He had no intention of doing so, but he'd do whatever he had to to get out of Moody's presence. His casual belittlement of Sam's desire to keep things to himself, when even his year-mates had let it be, was ringing alarm bells in his head.

"You should see Pomfrey," Moody told him. "Getting lost in your own head is bad, boy. Dismissed."

Sam collected his things and hurried out. He forced a smile and laughter at dinner, but he knew better than to think anyone was fooled. When they were finished, they all loped back to the common room, claimed their table, and spread out their work.

"Okay," Theo said, "let's get this done."

They bandied about ideas for their divination assignment. Pansy would make an unexpected find on the thirtieth due to Mars; Theo would lose a bet on the seventeenth because of Jupiter and Saturn; Crabbe would be in danger of falling on the ninth because of Mercury's unlucky positioning. Sam himself would be in danger of burns on Monday because of the moon.

"Because of the skrewts?" Blaise asked wryly, scratching his neck with his quill.

Sam pointed his pen at him. "Exactly."

"Why do you use those, anyway?" Theo asked, nodding at his pen.

"It's what I grew up with," Sam said with a shrug. "Lot easier to use than _bird feathers,_ and it makes cleaner lines. Why do you use quills?"

"They're traditional," Draco said comfortably. He was slumped back, hands laced over his stomach and eyes closed, the very picture of laziness. "You don't muck around with tradition."

"Why not?"

"Because it's tradition," Pansy said.

Sam shook his head. He would _never_ understand wizards.

Wednesday began with Herbology. Sprout led them out to the greenhouses, where there were pots with thick, wiggling, black tentacles poking up out of them. "Bubotubers," she announced proudly. Sam looked closer and saw they had pustules. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus in these bottles here for use in the infirmary; it's good for acne. Be careful not to spill any on you, and wear your dragonhide gloves - undiluted, bubotuber pus does funny things to the skin."

By the end of class, they had collected several pints without mishap, and Sprout collected the bottles from them. "This should keep Madam Pomfrey happy," she said cheerfully. "Off you get."

Following Herbology was History of Magic. Sam heard about three words of Binns' lecture before he nudged Theo and drew lines on his parchment. By the end of class, five of them were playing hangman. Binns either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

The rest of the month passed as it always did: helping each other with homework, Neville melting cauldrons in Potions, and Theo failing miserably at Charms. Sam continued sleeping poorly until Friday, when he opened the curtains to his bed and found Theo already in there. "Get in or take a sleeping potion, Sam, I'm not listening to you waking up all the time again," he grumbled.

"Sorry," Sam said, but he got in anyway. Waking up earlier for his morning run again became part of his routine.

He didn't lose track of reality again, but he did have periods where he wondered if the dementors had ever actually left, or if they'd burrowed beneath his skin with all the other _baddirtywrong_ parts of him. Sometimes they lasted minutes; sometimes they lasted for _days_ and he took to leaving his usual weapons in a locked drawer in his nightstand so he wouldn't be tempted to sneak off to the bathroom and use them.

Being around friends usually helped, during those periods, but sometimes they just made him more irritated. He left the common room more than once to take a long walk around the castle so he wouldn't snap at someone.

Near the end of September, Moody announced that he'd be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them, claiming it would let them know what it felt like so they could fight it.

Millie was first, and she was forced to hop around the room singing a wizard nursery rhyme. At least, Sam _assumed_ it was a nursery rhyme; he'd never heard it before, but it was about talking wallabies.

Crabbe went next, and he did backflips around the room. Goyle acted like a horse. Draco stripped off his cloak and button-down and sang the national anthem. Theo grabbed him and did a waltz while Draco was still trying to button up his shirt. Pansy did cartwheels.

"Winchester," Moody growled, and Sam walked forward, trepidation filling him. _"Imperio,_ " Moody said, and Sam was abruptly floating. All his worries had been wiped away, and all that was left was happiness.

 _Flip off the wall,_ said a voice in his head.

Why not? He faced the furthest wall from his and started running, prepping himself to plant a foot and run up it, but he was barely there when something in him broke, panicked, and rebelled. The room flashing around him, his body moving without input - he abruptly stopped being happy and was thrown headlong into crushing, suffocating fear. _STOP!_ he screamed at his limbs. _Stop, stop, STOP!_

His feet skidded out from under him and he hit the ground on his back, breathing hard. He was suddenly in control of himself again.

"Well done!" Moody roared. "You lot see that? He almost had it! He fought, and he beat it! One more time, Winchester, show 'em how it's done! _Imperio!_ "

The panic wiped itself away and his body stood - the panic returned; he wasn't in control, he had to be in control-

_Sit on a desk._

Sam's foot took one step forward, slowly, searchingly; Sam tried to keep it back, but it crept forward-

_Sit NOW!_

His weight was shifting forward, no, stop, _stop, please, please, I don't want this - don't do this, please, PLEASE!_

He took in a sucking breath and was in control of himself again. He bent in half, breathing hard, not sure if it was sweat trickling down his face or tears.

"There it is," Moody said in satisfaction. "Zabini, you next."

Sam staggered to a desk, sat, and hid his face in his hands, shaking hard. When they were released, Theo and Blaise nearly dragged him to the Great Hall for dinner and forced chocolate into him. Sam forced the class to the back of his mind, where he stored particularly nasty hunts, and muddled his way through the discussion of turning porcupines into pincushions.

That was not the only difficult assignment they'd received: Binns set them essays on goblin rebellions every week, Snape announced they would be studying antidotes and threatened to poison them to test the antidotes, Flitwick assigned them three extra books to read in preparation for beginning Summoning Spells, and Hagrid asked them to observe the skrewts every other night and take notes on their behavior.

A week after the Imperius lesson, they came back from Care of Magical Creatures to find a sign erected at the bottom of the marble stairs: the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations would be arriving on the thirtieth. 

"At least it's not Halloween," Pansy said optimistically.

They got another surprise the next morning: headlines prominently featured declared that after a trial that had dragged on for three weeks, Sirius Black, former inmate, had been cleared of all charges. Peter Pettigrew had been tried and convicted in his place. Black had been charged with failure to register an Animagus form, which carried with it a thirty-day Azkaban sentence. The thirty days had been struck for time served. Sirius Black was now a free citizen once more.

Theo clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man," he said. Sam half-smiled back; he'd woken up low that morning and had yet to return to normal.

The next several weeks, there were only two topics of conversation: the Triwizard Tournament and Sirius Black. Rumors that the former convict had moved to Hogsmeade, Surrey, London, Turkey, Egypt, and China all reached Sam's ears. Other rumors claimed that the first task would involve the champions battling their way through the Forbidden Forest, that the entirety of Durmstrang knew no English, that Beauxbatons was an all-girls school. Names of those planning to enter as champion flew through the school. Sam ignored them; he couldn't enter, though the tasks themselves might be interesting. He didn't care who was competing, just hoped whatever restrictions existed would keep people from being killed.

In the meantime, the castle was being thoroughly cleaned. More than one portrait rubbed their pink cheeks gingerly, wincing and glaring at anyone who dared look at them. The suits of armor shone, their joints oiled. Mr. Filch was so tense he sent first-years into hysterics.

On October thirtieth, they entered the Great Hall to find it had been heavily decorated. Enormous silk banners with embroidered house mascots hung from the walls. Behind the teachers' table, an enormous banner with the Hogwarts crest was hung.

Happy anticipation ruled the school the full day. Even Snape seemed to be in a milder mood than normal. When they were dismissed, they hurried back to the dormitory to deposit their bags and books as instructed. Sam had only taken four steps from the common room when his head split apart.

_Sirius Black was in a room with an arch on a dais. There were spells flashing all around, and Black himself was dueling with a witch on the steps that surrounded him. "That the best you can do, cousin?" he yelled, and then he was sent soaring back through the arch in a jet of horribly familiar green light._

_He didn't emerge._

Sam groaned and rolled himself on his side so he wouldn't choke when he vomited. That had been a bad one - not in terms of what had been seen, but in terms of pain. He felt like taking a meat cleaver to his brain would have hurt less.

 _"Scourgify,"_ someone muttered hurriedly, and the stench of bile disappeared. Sam kept his eyes closed, though, waiting for the pain to recede as it always did. He was half-aware of people settling around him, but he ignored it, focusing on bringing himself back into his body. Unlike the end of the previous year, he didn't have adrenaline to clear his head. He just needed time.

When he started trying to push himself up, gentle hands helped him. Someone brought a glass of water to his lips and he drank. "Thanks," he said, finally opening his eyes.

Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Millie, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had all stayed and were sitting around him in various degrees of worry. Goyle offered him a napkin, which he used to plug his nose. "Good?" Crabbe grunted.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," Sam said, breathing deep. "Just - I don't know. That was a bad one."

"What did you see?" Millie asked, eyes wide.

Sam sighed. "I saw Sirius Black die."

Silence reigned, and then Theo said, "Can you walk, or do you want to stay here? Snape'll kill us if we're much later."

"Shit," Sam mumbled. "How long?"

"We were supposed to line up in the Great Hall five minutes ago," Draco said. 

"You guys go ahead," Sam said. "I'll get there."

"Not a chance," Blaise said crisply. "Theo?"

Theo took his left arm, Blaise his right, and they pulled Sam to standing. Sam stumbled, and they put their arms back around him to keep him steady. "Let's go," Draco said, leading the way to the Great Hall. 

Snape met them before they'd gotten halfway up the stairs. "Explain," he ordered.

"Vision," Sam said thickly. His nose was still bleeding.

"Ad you all decided to remain behind rather than doing as you were bid. How sentimental. Come." He turned in a flurry of black. They followed him and let him push them into line between the third- and fifth-years, and then the school proceeded to the grounds as a whole. Blaise, who was behind him, kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him. They lined up on the long, sloping lawn in front of the castle and waited.

Sam's nose had long since stopped bleeding when Dumbledore finally called, "Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" several people said eagerly, looking around wildly. Millie nudged Blaise and pointed - there was something very large hurtling across the sky towards them. It passed over the Forbidden Forest and they got their first look at an enormous powder-blue carriage the size of a house being pulled by a dozen elephant-sized palomino pegasi.

The carriage bounced twice, then thrice across the lawn when it landed before slowly drawing to a stop with the door facing them. Two crossed wands emitting three stars apiece were embossed against the carriage in gold. The horses stomped their plate-sized hooves and tossed their heads, fiery eyes rolling.

A boy jumped from the carriage, fumbled with something at the bottom of the now-open door, unfolded a set of golden steps, and stepped back. A woman the size of Hagrid stepped out; a few people gasped. She had hansom olive skin, large black eyes, and a beaky nose. Her gleaming brown hair was in a bun at the base of her neck. Dressed in black satin, her decoration came from fire opals on her fingers and neck.

Dumbledore began to clap, and the students picked up the applause. The woman smiled and strode toward him as her pupils spilled out from the carriage in her wake.

"My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said.

"Dumbly-dorr," Maxime said warmly, "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you."

"My pupils," she said, turning to wave a careless hand at the dozen or so young adults who now stood before them, shivering. They were all dressed in periwinkle silk, and while a few had scarves or headwraps, they all looked exceptionally cold and mildly apprehensive at they stared up at the castle.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" she asked.

"He should be here any moment. Would you like to wait here and greet him or step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think. But ze 'orses-"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them the moment he had returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges."

"Bet the skrewts got him," Pansy whispered to Millie, and they both dissolved into giggles.

"My steeds require - er - forceful 'andling," Maxime said doubtfully. "Zey are very strong."

"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job." Was that a note of warning in Dumbledore's voice? Sam was sure he wouldn't take kindly to those who insinuated he hired subpar staff.

"Very well," Maxime said, bowing. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," said Dumbledore, bowing in turn.

"Come," Maxime commanded her pupils. The Hogwarts students parted to allow the Beauxbatons students to climb the steps to get to the castle, and closed ranks behind them.

Sam was starting to shiver now, freezing and starting to lose sight of why they were outside. He rubbed his hands together through the mittens Draco had gotten him for Christmas the year before and shoved them beneath his armpits.

 _"Calor,"_ Blaise whispered beside him, and Sam was suddenly warm.

He was also, apparently, a forgetful idiot. "Thanks," he whispered to Blaise.

"No problem," Blaise whispered back.

It was only a few minutes later, during which time Sam swayed unsteadily and widened his stance for balance, that there was a sucking noise, like something was being dragged across the lake bed, and they refocused their attention. The water splashed and bubbled before a whirlpool abruptly formed in the middle of the lake. A ship rose slowly from its depths, sailed to the edge of the lake, and dropped anchor. It was oddly skeletal in appearance, spindly wood and rigging harsh in the faint light. A gangplank was dropped to allow the occupants passage onto land. As they drew closer, Sam noticed a great deal of the students' size came from the heavy, matted fur cloaks they all wore. The only adult in the lot, an older man with silver hair, wore a silver fur coat.

"Dumbledore!" the man called happily. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore answered.

Karkaroff shook Dumbledore's hand with both of his own, white hair glittering weakly in the light of the Great Hall. His wispy goatee didn't quite cover his weak chin.

"Dear old Hogwarts," Karkaroff said indulgently. "How good it is to be here, how good. Viktor, come along, into the warmth - you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold."

A young man with rounded shoulders who moved a bit like a duck stepped forward, provoking hisses from the students. Sam heard 'crumb' whispered repeatedly and wondered who this guy was.

Once the Durmstrang students were inside, the Hogwarts ones followed. They filed up the stairs, Sam lagging a little. Blaise kept a hand on him right up until they sat at their table. "You sure you're okay to be here?" he asked. "I can get Pomfrey."

"No!" Sam half-shouted. A few heads turned his way curiously and he lowered his voice. "Thanks, but no. Pomfrey would just cluck and complain, you know how she is."

"Excuse me. Is this seat taken?" someone asked in English heavily accented with one of the Eastern European languages.

"Nope," Sam said, shifting a little closer to Blaise. "All yours."

"Thank you." One of the Durmstrang boys sat beside him. "I am Viktor."

"Sam."

"Is nice to meet you."

"You, too."

Viktor shrugged off his heavy furs. "Where to put this?"

"Um, under the table, maybe?" Sam guessed. "Sorry. Not a whole lot of clothes-storage in the Great Hall."

Viktor barked out a laugh and half-stood to put the coat beneath him. "I vill sit on it," he said. "Less dirt, yes?"

"Probably," Sam agreed.

Another Durmstrang boy, sitting two seats down from Crabbe, picked up a plate. "Is this gold?"

"Yes," Draco said smugly.

"And the ceiling is not there?"

"Transparent," Pansy said.

"Impressive."

"Oh, here comes Dumbledore," Draco said.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests." Dumbledore smiled benignly at them all. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable."

One of the Beauxbatons girls snorted derisively.

"The tournament will officially be opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

The long tables filled with food, including, for the first time in Sam's memory, cheeseburgers. He topped his with spinach, tomato, and mayonnaise. To his left, Viktor was serving himself something foreign. "Purzhena chushka," he said to Sam's questioning look. "Fried pepper with cheese."

"Sounds good," Sam said, serving himself corn. Viktor offered him the platter and he took a pepper. "Thanks."

"Of course," Viktor said.

"So," Draco said, leaning forward, "the World Cup. Was it exciting for you?"

Viktor hesitated, and Sam blinked at Draco. "Do you know each other?"

"No," Viktor said stiffly.

Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because his friends dissolved into giggles. "He's _on the Bulgraian team_ ," Blaise said.

"Oh," Sam said, flushing. "Sorry. Didn't know that."

"Not a fan of Bulgaria?"

"Not a fan of Quidditch in general," Sam said easily.

"Ah. Yes, the match was exciting. All matches are."

Quidditch talk continued, and Sam tuned out. He knew nothing of stats or players, and so he had nothing to contribute. He focused instead on eating the pepper, which was surprisingly good, and then his corn.

The first bite of his burger reminded him of Minnesota when he was ten, just weeks before the witch came to find him and he'd had to move to England. They'd been hunting a vengeful spirit, and they'd all been cocky, they'd all faced enough of them to go in expecting it to go down easy. It had, and they'd gone for burgers afterward at an all-night diner. Sam had been eating mostly salads for more than a year, but that night spirits had been high and he'd ordered a cheeseburger.

Blaise elbowed him. "Earth to Sam."

"Hmm?" He looked up.

"Get lost in your head again?" Theo joked, but there was worry in his eyes.

Sam forced a laugh. "Something like that. What's up?"

"Dessert," Blaise said bluntly. "And you've taken, what, a bite of your burger?"

"Eh." Sam shrugged. "It happens."

"Vere are you from?" Viktor asked him. "You speak not like the others."

"America," Sam said briskly, reaching for a pear tart.

"I vent there for Qvidditch vunce. Eh, Kansas?"

"I was born there," Sam said. "Corn country."

"There vere a lot of crops," Viktor said.

Talk moved to travel, and before they knew it, Dumbledore was standing for the end-of-feast speech. "The moment has come," he announced with a smile. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year."

Sam took that to mean 'safety precautions', which could only be to the good.

"But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Sam examined the men as he clapped. Crouch, who had nodded curtly when he'd been introduced, had a razor-thin mustache and hair that had been sharply parted atop a thin face. Bagman was more jovial, waving and beaming at them all. He had a bit of a paunch, and the overall effect was that of an overgrown schoolboy.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements of the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts. The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch approached from a dimly-lit corner of the Hall, carrying with him a large wooden chest covered with jewels. 

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year," Dumbledore continued as Filch placed the chest on the table in front of him, "have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman, and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways. Their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, last but not least, their ability to cope with danger.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore brought out his wand and tapped the casket lid three times. It creaked slowly open, and Dumbledore reached inside to draw out a rough-hewn wooden cup spewing blue-white flames. Sam's first thought was _Fire in a wooden cup, Christ, **wizards.**_

Dumbledore closed the lid and placed the goblet on top of it. "Anyone wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions had twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward."

"Don't say it," Sam whispered. "Don't make this happen on Halloween."

"Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all!"

"Halloween," Millie said at once.

"They're doing this on Halloween?" Blaise said disbelievingly.

"How thick can they get?" Draco added, shaking his head in disgust.

"I do not understand," Viktor said.

"All right, look," Sam said. "First Halloween we had here, a troll got in to the school and very nearly killed four students. Second year a basilisk was let loose and began Petrifying people. Last year an escaped convict broke in and ransacked the Gryffindor common room. Historically, Halloween has been a very bad day for this school."

"What? I didn’t hear about it trying to kill four students," Blaise said.

Shit. Shit shit shit. He'd forgotten the cover story. "It may have just been a rumor," he lied.

"A basilisk was loose in the school? Did the teachers find it?" the other Durmstrang boy asked.

"Sam did," Blaise said, clapping his back proudly. "Killed the sucker and saved the girl."

"You killed a basilisk?" Viktor asked, but at that moment Karkaroff came bustling over. "Back to the ship, then. Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchen?"

Viktor shook his head and shrugged his coat back on. The other Durmstrang boy said, "Professor, I vood like some vine."

"I wasn't talking to you, Poliakoff," Karkaroff snapped. "I noticed you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy."

And with that parting shot, he turned and left. "I vould like to hear that story sometime," Viktor told him hurriedly.

Sam nodded. "Anytime."


	3. Visions

On Halloween, Sam woke and ran as he always did. He'd had a frankly alarming number of nightmares the night before, and so he went further and harder than usual, trying to outrun the tinny echoes of ghosts screaming in his ear. When he finally went back inside, it was to see one of the Weasley twins leaping over the Age Line with a yell to join his brother, only for both of them to be spat back out, growing identical long, white beards.

Everyone in the hall burst out laughing, including Sam. Even Fred and George did, once they saw each other.

"I did warn you," Dumbledore said from the doors to the Great Hall. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

With that backhanded compliment, Dumbledore swept away, likely to return to his office and do whatever he did all day. The Weasley twins and a black boy Sam vaguely recognized as the Quidditch commentator went up the stairs after him, still laughing. The crowd in the hall moved toward the Great Hall, likely for breakfast. Sam went back down to the common room to shower and change. He got out just as the rest of his year was dressing.

"Coming up with us?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, one sec," Sam said, then mumbled the heat spell to dry his hair, which was now just long enough to curl around his shoulders. He was oddly protective of his hair now that he didn't have to wear it in the short buzz John had favored for his sons.

"Gettin' long there," Blaise teased.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, but I like it this way."

"So the tournament," Draco said with relish. "I heard Warrington put his name in this morning."

"Yeah?" Sam finished tugging on his shoes. "Think he'll get it?"

"He's a little too thick to compete, I think," Blaise said. "I hope it's Longley."

Longley was the seventh-year girls' prefect. "She'd be good," Theo agreed. "We all ready?"

Viktor found them at breakfast. He and the other Durmstrang students surrounded them. "Ve are curious," he said to Sam. "The basilisk."

"Oh, right," Sam said, taking his last bite of scrambled egg. "Um, how about we go outside? There's more room."

His friends followed them out, too, apparently interested. It had been over a year since the basilisk, and Sam had only spoken of it thrice: once to Dumbledore, once to his friends, and once over Christmas break the year before.

He told the story, making sure to only give the facts and falsehoods he'd been told to share. He needed to keep his voluntary involvement to the minimum.

When he'd finished, one of the Durmstrang girls let out a low whistle. "It is good, I think, that you are not champion," she said. "Ve vould lose kvickly."

Sam smiled. "It was all luck," he reassured her. "I'm looking forward to a quiet year. No convicts, no basilisks. Just school, for once."

"Yeah, we'll see how that goes," Pansy said. "Face it, you attract trouble."

"I do not!" he said indignantly.

"Oh, yeah?" Blaise asked. "Remember the time you got in the way of the hippogriff? Or the dementors? Or-"

"Okay, okay," Sam said, holding up a hand. "But I'd like to point out that _I_ was not the one antagonizing the hippogriff, and I had nothing to do with the dementors."

"You did go looking for Black," Theo pointed out.

"I saw what would happen if I didn't, can you blame me?" he retorted.

"Saw?" the same girl asked.

"Sam's a Seer," Theo said.

"Then you know who will win?" a boy asked.

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't work like that. I can't control it, and I can't control what I see. Otherwise I'd make a killing by betting on Quidditch games here."

"Make a killing?"

"Yeah, uh, make a lot of money," Sam explained. That idiom had apparently not made it over to Bulgaria.

"Ah."

They spent the rest of the day outside, talking about anything and everything - Quidditch (which Sam and half the Durmstrang students tuned out for), classes, teachers, differences between schools (the Durmstrang students didn't have houses at all). By the time it started to rain in midafternoon, they were all comfortable enough around each other for the Durmstrang students to invite the fourth-years onto their ship.

It was larger on the inside, they were surprised to find. "Our Headmaster likes his comfort," Marcin Poliakoff told them. "Come, the common area is this way."

They spent the rest of the afternoon swapping stories. The Slytherins told them about some of the more memorable pranks played by the Weasley twins; the Durmstrang students answered with stories of their school's prank wars. Marcin and Viktor had once turned Amelie, Petra, and Urte's hair blue. The three girls had retaliated by shrinking the boys' sheets and clothing, then sneaking in while they were asleep and casting Sticking Charms to prevent them from getting up in the morning.

"That is just evil," Millie said admiringly. Pansy high-fived them all.

Eventually it was time to return to the castle for the feast and the announcement of champions. They traipsed up to the castle, Karkaroff in the lead with Viktor. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were also returning to the castle; Sam waved at them.

The feast dragged on, compounded by the exhaustion that crashed into Sam as soon as he sat at the table. He took some carrots and ate them methodically, too tired to be truly hungry.

At long last, Dumbledore stood. As Sam looked up at him, his head split itself in half. "Shit," he whimpered, curling in on himself. He vaguely felt Blaise put a hand behind his back to keep him from falling over before-

_There was an arena - a blonde girl facing a dragon, which examined her - she was frozen, face a mask of fear - and then she cast a charm -_

"The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

_The dragon slumped lazily - it breathed out flames, and she caught fire - she screamed and fell silent - she was extinguished, and her corpse was blackened and burned-_

"Harry Potter."

Sam was at once back in the Great Hall, which was now silent. Theo pressed a napkin to Sam's nose, which was bleeding again, without looking at him. Sam followed his gaze to see Harry trip on the hem of his robes and stumble up to the front table, then into a side room.

"What happened?" he asked, panting. "Who are the champions?"

"Viktor, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory, and _Potter_ ," Blaise spat.

"Is Fleur blonde? Really pretty, stick-thin?" Sam asked urgently.

"Yes," Theo said, tearing his eyes off the door. "Why? Did you see her?"

"Yeah," Sam said shortly. "I - uh - I should...." He trailed off. He couldn't imagine where she could possibly meet a dragon - unless it was a task. "Wait - Harry Potter? How did he get drawn?"

"Probably put his name in somehow," Draco said contemptuously. "Couldn't stand not being the center of attention for once."

"Yeah, but - _how?_ " Sam asked, bewildered. "Two champions for one school - how?"

"Who knows?" Blaise asked, a sneer on his face. "Might've gotten a teacher to do it for him...Dumbledore might've done it himself."

"You think your headmaster would do such a thing?"Urte asked.

"Yes," all of them but Sam chorused. 

"Potter's his favorite," Draco said.

They were interrupted by Sprout snapping at them: "To bed, all of you!" sounding far from her usual kind self.

The Slytherin common room that night held an atmosphere of blunted rage. Those Slytherins who had submitted their names were furious that a Gryffindor three years younger than they had been chosen, though none of them held any resentment toward Diggory, about whom nobody had anything bad to say. The younger Slytherins were angry that Potter had weaseled himself into the limelight again and broken tradition. Sam was just tired and irritated that Harry couldn't content himself with being a normal student - his need for attention was quickly becoming pathological. Sam fell asleep on the couch after ten minutes, so tired he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. When he woke the next morning, his head was on Millie's shoulder, and Theo's head was in his lap.

Sam kept an eye out whenever he was out in the main castle all of Sunday, but he didn't see the blonde Beauxbatons student to warn her.

Sam had Arithmancy on Monday morning, and Hermione smiled at him, looking strained. "Hello," she said.

"Hi," Sam said back.

"You don't believe Harry put his name in the goblet, do you? Because you, of all people, should know that he doesn't like fame-"

"How would I know that?" Sam interrupted. "Every year, he's at the middle of everything."

"So are you," Hermione snapped.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one competing as champion, am I?" Sam snapped back. "Look, I don't _care_ if he put his name in, okay? I really don't. I have enough to worry about."

"Like what? Keeping what you do from everyone? Because I can expose-"

"Shut up," Sam snarled, stepping close. His temper flared, and he lowered his voice to try to keep from losing it entirely. "If you _ever_ tell anyone what I am, Hermione, I am _done_ at this school, got it? You have _no idea_ what would happen to me if it got out."

"I've a pretty good idea. I'm a Muggle-born, in case-"

"So am I," Sam said. "I'm a foreigner, too, _and_ I've got that whole shebang going on. You have _no idea_ how dangerous it is for people to know that I'm-"

"What's this, then?" Terry Boot said loudly.

Sam suddenly realized how it looked, him towering over Hermione while she was backed against the wall. He took a step away and growled, "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Terry said suspiciously.

"No, it's - he's right, Terry," Hermione said, voice high. "It's nothing."

Terry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the door to the classroom opened and Vector pointed them all inside.

Taking notes, Sam's anger drained away, and he couldn't believe what he'd done. When class ended, he looked at Hermione and whispered, "Sorry."

She forced a smile. "It's okay. I shouldn't have thr- er - done what I did."

"Doesn't mean I should've done what _I_ did."

"Yeah. Anyway. I should get to class."

"See you in Creatures," Sam said, and hurried off to Divination.

They loitered over lunch, waiting until the last possible second to go to Care of Magical Creatures. None of them were in the mood to deal with Harry and the other Gryffindors, let alone the skrewts; Sam barely spoke, so miserable he wasn't sure the words would come out if he tried to speak. The others left him alone.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," Draco said loudly when they were within earshot of the other students. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer." He shot a quick glance at Sam, apparently expecting him to stick up for the other boy the way he had in times past, but when Sam didn't say anything he barreled on. "Half the Triwizard champions have died - how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

"Draco," Sam said quietly. It was one thing to mock, but to tell anyone that he hoped they would die was just plain cruel.

It turned out to not matter, because Hagrid came out at just that moment and said brightly, "The skrewt's've bin hurtin' each other lately acos they've got so much energy. Take a leash an' go fer a walk."

"Take this thing for a walk?" Draco repeated incredulously. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," Hagrid said. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry, you come here an' help me with this big one."

Sam traded disgusted looks with Millie and Theo. He was already in a foul mood; at times like this, he hated damn near everything, whether or not it was fair. He tied a length of cord around a skrewt with harsh, impatient movements and set off. The skrewt blasted off every so often, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to walk straight behind it or to let his attention wander. Let other people be burned or dragged around - he wasn't going to be.

The next day, Flitwick moved them on to Summoning Charms. Sam mastered them quickly and did his best to help Theo, who was setting things on fire.

"I hate Charms," he grumbled once they were released. "I swear, after OWLs I'm dropping that class."

Sam just nudged him along to dinner, not trusting himself to speak. His mood had held steady at 'miserable' since lunch.

On Wednesday afternoon, Draco showed them what he'd been doing in a corner of the dormitory since the day after Halloween: making badges.

"Look," he said eagerly. Glowing red letters proudly shone out, _Support Cedric Diggory - the REAL Hogwarts champion._

"Really?" Blaise asked doubtfully.

"That's not all," Draco said, eyes shining with malice. He poked it with a finger and it became glowing green: _POTTER STINKS._

"Huh," Theo said. "Look at that."

The smile slipped from Draco's face. "You don't like them?"

"They're kind of...mean-spirited," Millie said diplomatically. "Maybe just 'Support Cedric Diggory', without the digs at Potter. It gets the message across without being petty."

"Fine," Draco muttered sullenly, cradling the badge to his chest - but he removed the other words, and by the next morning, the badges read only 'Support Cedric Diggory'. Sam pinned it to his bag rather than his cloak, mostly to keep Draco from scowling at him. He didn't have the energy to do battle with him over somebody Sam was less than thrilled with anyway.

In their second Potions lesson since Halloween, Snape ordered them to continue antidotes and announced they'd be testing them at the end of class with his eyes fixed on Harry. Sam was relatively sure Snape wouldn't actually poison him unless he'd made the antidote properly.

Relatively.

It turned out they didn't have to test it: five minutes after the class began, Colin Creevey, one of the Gryffindors who had been Petrified two years before, edged into the room and walked right up to Snape's desk. They all watched with interest.

"Yes?" Snape said.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."

Sam met Theo's eyes, and he knew they were thinking the same thing: Harry always did get special treatment.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when class is finished."

"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," Colin said, now pink and faintly pleading. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs."

"Photographs," Millie whispered contemptuously. "Famous Potter."

"Very well, very well," Snape said irritably. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir, he's got to take his things with him - all the champions-"

"Very _well_! Potter, take your bag and get out of my sight!"

Harry hurried from the room, and they hastily returned to their antidotes before Snape could see that their attention had wandered. Sam's cubed shrivelfig was smoking and he hastily put it out.

As threatened, Snape drew out a tiny vial at the end of class and said softly, "Now. Who feels confident enough in their antidote to risk their life?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Snape approached. "First, I suppose we should look. Tell me, Miss Granger, what color is the final product supposed to be?"

"Teal," she said immediately.

"And what color is your potion now?"

"Teal."

Snape's lip curled. "Not quite. Look closely and try again."

Hermione's cheeks pinked and she looked down at her cauldron. "I still see teal, sir."

"I see turquoise, Miss Granger. Tell me, did you stew your sunflower roots for three minutes or five?"

"Three, sir."

She'd gotten the antidote they were brewing today confused with the one they'd brewed last class.

"Turn to page 394 and tell me how long you are _supposed_ to stew them for."

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out her copy of the book. She flipped to the proper page.

"Well?" Snape snapped.

"Five, sir."

"What was that?"

"You're supposed to stew the sunflower roots for five minutes," she said dully.

"Correct," Snape said. "Which means this mess is utterly useless for this poison. You would have died in agony. Would anyone else care to try?"

Theory confirmed - Snape wouldn't poison them if their antidote would fail - Sam raised his hand.

"Mister Winchester," Snape said, moving to his cauldron. "An interesting time to offer. You never have before." Snape took the ladle in his cauldron and stirred the liquid once, then pulled it out to splash the potion back down. "If you're sure," he said, handing Sam the vial, "down it quickly."

 _Bottoms up,_ Sam thought, and threw it back like he'd thrown back whiskey when he'd needed stitches at his father's hand.

His stomach cramped immediately, and he curled in on himself. Brisk hands forced him upright through the pain and poured something down his throat.

The pain vanished. He was left clutching at Snape's sleeve, breathing hard with tears tracking down his face.

"An adequate antidote," Snape announced. "Everyone else, bottle a sample, label it, and leave it on my desk. Winchester, stay behind."

After they'd all washed their hands and packed their things away, the other students left. Sam approached Snape's desk with no small amount of trepidation.

"Sit," Snape ordered, voice hard. "Winchester, do you know why I ask for volunteers when I do this module?"

"No, sir."

"There are two types of volunteers," Snape told him. "One is a know-it-all. If they are wrong, I tell them where and how they went wrong. If they are right, they suffer for a few minutes before I put them out of their misery, and maybe they will think before volunteering in my class. Do you know what the second type is?" Sam shook his head. "The second type is a student who needs to see Pomfrey because they are imbalanced. Are you imbalanced, Winchester?" Sam shook his head again. "Then are you a previously-unknown third type of volunteer, or are you _lying to me?_ "

Sam swallowed. "You wouldn’t let a student actually die," he said, "no matter how much you dislike them. If the student gets it right, you feed them their own antidote. If I got it wrong, you would have humiliated me and asked for someone else."

"And you're sure of this because you have such a deep understanding of human nature?" Snape asked caustically.

"No, sir. I'm sure because you hate Hermione Granger more than almost anyone else and you didn't let her take the poison."

Snape examined him critically. "How are you sleeping?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How are you sleeping?" Snape repeated.

"Fine, sir."

"Do not lie to me. How. Are. You. Sleeping?"

Sam knew better than to disagree with that tone. "Poorly," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Visions. And nightmares, sometimes. I usually can't tell them apart," Sam admitted, looking down and away.

There was a pause, and then Snape said, "You also have not been eating well."

"I haven't been hungry," Sam replied steadily.

"Related to the nightmares and visions?"

Sam considered. "I'm not sure."

"Very well. Dismissed - eat something more than a piece of bread tonight."

"Um - sir - do you know the Triwizard tasks?"

Snape went very still. "Why are you asking?"

"Because I saw the Beauxbatons girl and a dragon."

Snape relaxed. "Yes. Dragons are the first task. You are not to warn her."

"But-"

"There will be dozens of dragon handlers surrounding her. She is in no real danger."

"Professor-"

"Do. Not. Warn. Her."

Sam gave in. "All right."


	4. The First Task; The Yule Ball

November 24, the date of the first task, drew steadily nearer. On the second, Sam made his now-customary trek to the Astronomy tower with the picture of his mother and talked to 'her' for over an hour. On the twelfth, Rita Skeeter had published an article, supposedly about the tournament but in reality a life story of Harry. Cedric hadn't been mentioned once; Fleur and Viktor's names had been misspelled in the very last line of the article. Skeeter had gone farther and written paragraphs that had supposedly come straight from Harry's mouth but Sam couldn't imagine the other boy ever saying: "I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be proud of me if they could see me now….Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it."

It was _possible_ Harry had said those things; Sam didn't know him well enough to discount the chance. He just didn't think it very _likely._

After the article had been published, Harry had begun losing his temper and shouting at innocent bystanders. Hermione had put on a cloak of haughty disdain around any who gave her a hard time. She'd cooled off some toward Sam, and they were polite to each other, but they both kept in mind what had happened the day after Harry had been chosen as a champion. Sam couldn't forget that she'd threatened to expose him; she couldn't forget that he'd lost his temper.

The Saturday before the first task was a Hogsmeade weekend. Sam and his friends spent a very enjoyable day in the nearby town, drinking butterbeer and joking around with each other; all but Sam happily speculated on the first task. They tried to draw Sam into the conversation, but Sam just smiled and shook his head. "Did you see something?" Theo demanded at last.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," Sam said dryly. Blaise kicked gravel at him.

Away from the oppressive atmosphere of the castle and surrounded by friends, Sam's spirits lifted, only to crash again when they got back inside. Sam skipped dinner, pulling the curtains around his bed and trying desperately not to cry into the pillow. Somewhere along the line he fell asleep, and he woke to Theo's head on his shoulder.

He did _not_ deserve his friends. Looking at Theo's sleeping face, guilt crashed in on him that he was lying to them every day about who he was. They had _no idea_ that he was a killer. There were reasons for that, good and bad ones alike, but Sam wanted nothing more than to tell them.

He sighed and curled into Theo. He knew better than to think they could ever know.  
***  
The night before the first task, Sam woke up to a nosebleed. He grumbled, disentangled himself from Theo, and slipped into the bathroom, trying to remember what he'd seen. There had been Harry and Viktor, yes, and they were in the forest, but then someone else had come out to join them - Harry had left, Viktor had been Stunned, and Sam had watched as a Cutting Curse slit the newcomer's throat neatly, blood spraying out into the air in shining arcs. The body had been transfigured into a bone and buried, the blood neatly Vanished. Sam never saw the culprit's face, only a dark cloak that covered his head.

He splashed water on his face and glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning - too early to run, too late to go back to bed. With the way his head was pounding, sleep wouldn't be an option for at least another three hours.

He grabbed his books and went out to the common room instead. He needed to finish Sprout's essay on Flutterby bushes.

There would be no afternoon lessons, so after lunch, they went down to the specially-erected stadium and found seats. Crabbe and Goyle, the tallest of them, sat in back; Pansy, Millie, and Draco, the shortest, sat in front.

As they waited for the dragons to come out - though the others didn't know there would be dragons - they gossiped. Sam smiled whenever anyone looked at him, managed a response whenever he was spoken to, but he just felt...off. Like there was something _missing,_ but also too close for comfort.

There were appreciative, astonished gasps from the crowd when the dragon first appeared, and several people in the first few rows scrambled back. Then a loud whistle blew, and Cedric walked in. He looked right at a rock in the enclosure and changed it into a dog, which raced at the dragon, yipping loudly. While it was distracted, Cedric darted in to get the egg.

The dragon didn't stay distracted when it felt him between its legs - it reared back and shot fire at him. Cedric ducked, rolled, and ran, a golden egg under his arm. The tamers ran forward to Stun it, now that Cedric had completed the task. Cedric kept running right back out; when he returned minutes later to receive his score, he had orange glop on the side of his face. The dragon had, in fact, burned him. The judges gave him a combined total of 38 points.

Fleur came next. Sam tensed when she came out. "Sam?" Blaise whispered.

"I saw this one," Sam whispered back.

"Don't you only see-"

"Yeah." Sam was almost vibrating with tension, and he laid his wand across his lap.

Fleur cast a charm, and the dragon seemed to fall asleep. She ran forward; Sam saw it start to snore and screamed, "DUCK!" as loudly as he possibly could.

Fleur heard him, clearly, because she rolled out of the way. Her skirt caught fire, but it was nothing like the conflagration of the Halloween vision, and she put it out easily. "Oh thank God," Sam whimpered.

"How bad was it?" Blaise asked, eyes on Fleur, who was now retrieving the egg.

"She died. Went right up like dry wood, and then they put her out, and...well."

Blaise winced. "Cheerful, aren't you?" Draco drawled.

Sam ignored him, focusing instead on Fleur, who was now exiting the arena. She returned as soon as the dragon had been removed - thirty-five points. Sam clapped with the rest of the crowd.

Viktor came next, and like the others, he didn't hesitate before casting his spell. It hit his dragon, a bright red Chinese Fireball, straight in its eyes. The dragon screamed in animal pain and blundered around, stepping on the eggs in its confusion. Viktor darted in and out quickly, and was the first to manage the task without being burned. For that, he was awarded forty points.

The last dragon was brought out, and this one looked _nasty._ There were spikes all along its spine and down its tail, and anger poured from it almost palpably.

"Of course Potter would get the most impressive one," Draco grumbled.

Harry came out, raised his wand, and shouted something - but nothing happened for almost a full minute, in which time the crowd tittered quietly. Then a broomstick rocketed toward him, and the stadium exploded into cheers. Harry mounted and kicked off. He rose slowly, flying around its head, dodging its flames but being caught once by its tail. He was clearly waiting for it to twist up and around, and when it did he shot downward, grabbed the egg, and got the hell out of Dodge before the dragon realized where he'd gone. He soared out over the stands and then touched down just outside the enclosure. He returned minutes later to get his scores: 40. He had tied for first.

Sam sent a letter to Lianne and Christina that night - he'd promised to fill them in on the tasks. That done, he jogged out to the Durmstrang ship. Viktor was on the railing. Sam begged him to avoid letting Harry Potter leave him alone in a forest with a madman, and Viktor promised him, quite seriously, he would keep it from happening. Sam returned to the castle and played Exploding Snap with his friends.

He got a reply from the two women a week later, on December first, asking him if he was quite sure he wanted to remain at Hogwarts (which he was pretty sure was a joke) and detailing their latest hunts. The Care of Magical Creatures class he had that day, where they tried to settle six-foot-long skrewts into boxes for hibernation, nearly drove the letter from his mind: the skrewts broke free of the crates and scattered in all directions. 

Most of the class ran inside Hagrid's cabin and barricaded themselves in, but Sam, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Blaise, Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas stayed outside. Sam cornered skrewts with Blaise; Lavender, Seamus, and Dean teamed up; and Hagrid helped the other Gryffindors. Eventually, there was only one skrewt left to corral. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid faced off against that one while the rest of them wiped sweat from their foreheads and tended to the minor burns and scrapes they'd received.

"We should kill 'em all," Dean muttered angrily. The rest of them nodded, save Sam, who was suddenly acutely aware of the line he walked.

A woman in magenta robes strolled up and started talking to the ones cornering the final skrewt, apparently uninterested in Harry and Ron being backed up against the cabin wall and the rest of class in the cabin or standing off to the side.  
***  
Snape held the Slytherins behind after their very next Potions class to announce a Yule Ball. His curled lip when he said it made it abundantly clear he was disgusted with the whole thing - not that it stopped anyone else's excitement. Draco asked Pansy the moment they'd left the room, and she accepted happily.

That was only the beginning. The rest of the students were suddenly Ball-happy. Everyone gossiped about who they'd bring, what they'd wear, who would be playing, whether Dumbledore had really bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from the Three Broomsticks. Sam watched in bewilderment. At least now he knew the reason for the sudden appearance of 'dress robes' on the school supply list.

Some professors gave up on getting them to concentrate. Flitwick let them play Exploding Snap, Gobstones, and chess the entire Charms period, and even joined them in a round, though he bowed out the third time Sam got sprayed with Stinksap. Despite three years of playing, he was still abysmal. Vector decided on another review game, and they all won house points, Sam and Hermione tying for the lead once more.

McGonagall, of course, kept them at changing guinea fowl to guinea pigs. Snape was the last teacher they would expect to let them play around during class, and they were not pleasantly surprised: Snape would be testing their antidotes once more, and informed them, "Winchester will not be taking the fall for you this time." So cleared, Sam cheerfully ignored his Potions notes while the rest studied and only glanced over them in the last ten minutes before class. His wasn't _quite_ the right shade of violet, but Snape pronounced it passable.

Theo and Millie had been watching each other ever since the ball had been announced, which Sam knew because he'd spent much of his time looking at the two of them and wondering which one he wanted to ask. It turned out not to matter: Theo asked Millie the last night of term, and she accepted. Sam wasn't sure which he was more jealous of, but he made a quick excuse of going to the library to find a book he needed for Arithmancy homework and spent the evening wandering the hallways. It wasn't quite as risky a proposition for him as it would be for others; Filch was still very much grateful to him for the basilisk debacle, and treated him better than he treated other students he found roaming the halls with no clear goal in mind. Sam spent ten minutes listening to the man rant about the mess and destruction Fred and George Weasley left behind them, nodding sympathetically at the right spots.

Eventually Filch moved on, and Sam considered. He wasn't in the mood for happy company, but he wasn't in the mood to keep wandering, either. There was only one place where he would be guaranteed a companion as miserable as he, and he went down to the second corridor, knocked on the girls' bathroom door, and entered. "Myrtle?" he called softly. "Are you here?"

"This is a GIRLS' room," she started, flying over the door to her usual stall, but she stopped abruptly when she saw who it was. "Oh, Sam. It's been a while."

"It has. Sorry about that. How ya been?"

"I've been dead! How've you been?"

"Eh." Sam shrugged and leaned against the wall. "Hex bags still working?"

"Yes. Why'd you come in?" She giggled.

"It's just been a while. Thought I'd see what you've been up to lately."

"Ooh, did you hear about the Grey Lady last week?"

Myrtle prattled on about the ghosts in the castle, sharing embarrassing stories with him. Sam didn't know any of them personally - Binns was the only one who would willingly stay in a room he was occupying - but they were humiliating enough Sam got a vindictive sort of pleasure from hearing them.

By the time he left the bathroom, Sam was calmer, if not happier.  
***  
More people stayed for this year's winter break than any in Sam's memory. The teachers, apparently determined to show off the castle, created decorations more amazing than he'd seen before. Everlasting icicles graced the stairs' banisters; the suits of armor in the halls had been treated to another polishing and spelled to sing Christmas carols (Peeves had to be ejected more than once from inside them, since he'd taken to filling in any gaps with rude lyrics of his own making); and the dozen Christmas trees in the Great Hall were covered in holly berries, glass ornaments, spun metal eyecatchers, and hooting owls that Sam wasn't entirely sure were made of gold - for all he knew, they were real owls that had been spelled to not need food or water and coated in gold leaf. Wizards were weird like that.

Sam was also treated to the very great honor of watching Ron Weasley make a complete fool out of himself in the entrance hall. Fleur Delacour had been talking to Cedric - flirting, probably - and he'd just walked up and asked her to go to the ball. She turned to look at him, and he ran for it. Sam felt bad for laughing, but it wasn't like they were friends, and he hadn't yet forgotten trying to sit with him during first year and being turned away by laughter and mockery. One look at Millie and Theo sucked the mirth out of him and replaced it with a coiling ribbon of red where his liver was supposed to be.

Sam knew it wasn't fair to take it out on them. Theo still shared his bed. Millie still shared her wicked jokes. It wasn't their fault he had a stupid crush on both of them and they were going with each other. It was just hard, sometimes, to refrain from taking his jealousy out on them. Especially when they were shut together in the common room, having collectively agreed it was better to do the entirety of their homework at the beginning of the break rather than the end. As was now their custom, they each took a subject to determine the points they needed to include in their papers and then shared the notes around. "Working smarter, not harder," as Sam had jokingly described it once.

Sam took to running around the castle four times, pushing himself harder than he had before - at this point, he wondered why he even bothered to set a baseline distance, since he kept finding more and more things to run away from. Maybe he should just run himself into exhaustion every day.

On Christmas Day, the day of the Yule Ball, Sam did exactly that, running until his legs refused to support his weight any longer and he went toppling into the snow, which melted around him - the warming charm he used had that effect, which made running in it very exciting. He leaned back into the snow and gasped for breath, staring up at the sky, which was still dark at this time of year. He'd been trying to run until the bloody sunrise, but that had clearly failed. He stayed where he was, bringing his heart rate back down and watching the sun come up, and then he stood up, dried himself off, and trudged back to the castle.

One of the girls Ginny had introduced him to met him in the entrance hall. "Hi, Sam," she said, blushing furiously.

Sam racked his memory for her name. "Hi - Perri?" It was a guess, and he'd very nearly said 'Terri', but she giggled and ran into the entrance hall. Apparently he'd gotten it right.

He exchanged presents with his friends this year. He'd finally saved up enough from his school supply fund to be able to afford small gift for them all, and while they weren't nearly as extravagant as the books they'd gotten him, they obviously appreciated the effort.

Theo gave him a thick, leather-bound journal with his name stamped in the bottom right, and 'Prophecies' below it in a curly script. "Thought it might help to get them out some," he explained. "And since you won't tell us, I figured a journal would work."

Sam grinned at him. "Thanks."

That afternoon, they all got dressed quickly. Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Sam were all without dates, and so they were going as a group; it was comical, in a way, because they had all gotten green dress robes.

They waited in the common room with Theo and Draco for Pansy and Millie to come out. Pansy emerged in pink frills; Draco kissed her cheek and told her she looked lovely. Next to Draco's conservative black velvet, the pink popped very well - so well it might be considered 'garish'.

Theo, whose dark skin was warmed nicely by the red of his dress robes, shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Relax," Sam whispered to him. "It's just Millie."

"Guh," Theo said, staring past him. Sam turned to look - Millie had just come down, and his brain short-circuited. She was _beautiful_ , with her dark hair tumbling down past her creamy face. She'd done something to make her eyes look large and dark. Her golden robes set off similar colors in her skin and showed off her figure.

She walked to Theo and rested a hand on his arm. "Ready?"

They made a striking couple, and Sam swallowed against the bile rising within him. They were too damn pretty to be marred by his dirty selfishness.

"We ready?" Pansy asked, looking around at them, and they moved as a group to the entrance hall, where people were milling about. Sam wasn't sure if it looked crowded because it _was_ crowded, or if it was just that everyone was wearing robes that weren't their black uniform.

The front doors opened, and Karkaroff led in the Durmstrang students. Krum was at the front, handsome in scarlet, with a gorgeous girl in periwinkle that poked at Sam's memory. Behind them, Sam could see conjured rosebushes and fairies in front of the school.

"Champions over here!" McGonagall called. The four of them and their dates hurried over, and the rest of them streamed through the doors. 

As they passed the eight, Sam got a good look at Viktor's date and grinned. "You look fantastic, Hermione," he said.

She blushed, very prettily. "Thanks."

"You too, Viktor," Sam said before he was swept along with the tide.

"I'm starting to think you really _do_ like guys," Blaise said to him when they sat at the table.

"And if I do?" Sam said, surprising himself with how cool his voice was.

Blaise looked surprised. "Nothing, I just thought…the way you've been looking at Millie…."

Sam shrugged, a little startled himself. Blaise was putting more thought into this than Sam himself had. "I can't like both?"

Blaise just blinked at him and shook his head. "Is this an American thing?"

"I think it's a human thing," Sam said. He was starting to regret this conversation. "Anyway. Dinner."

The plates in front of them filled with food, and conversation shifted to stories.

When they were done, Dumbledore stood. "Everyone please stand," he called.

Sharing confused glances, they did as they were told. Dumbledore waved his wand, sending the tables against the walls with a loud bang; another wave, and a platform appeared with a lute, a cello, a drumset, bagpipes, and several guitars upon it. The musical troupe - the Weird Sisters - entered to applause. They were all very hairy and wearing ripped back robes.

The champions and their dates took space in the middle of the hall and began to dance when a waltz began. Other couples drifted onto the floor, including such unlikely pairs as Dumbledore and Maxime, Moody and Sinistra, and Bagman and McGonagall. Sam and his friends got drinks, found seats, and watched.

Nearly ten minutes later, their attention was attracted by a shout: "No, it's not! It's about winning!"

"Is that one of the Weasleys?" Blaise asked, a question collectively answered with uncaring shrugs. They whiled away the rest of the evening at the table, one of them occasionally getting up to dance. Theo and Millie had disappeared sometime around ten, probably to the rose garden, which lowered Sam's mood further, and suddenly the entire thing seemed pointless. 

What did all this matter? Glitter and jewels and robes and make-up and perfume - this wasn't the place for him. He was more comfortable stitching up himself and his family than wearing a suit, better at getting blood out of clothes than untangling earrings from hair, more used to killing wizards than _being_ one. And this - all this, this decoration and music, it just seemed _stupid_ , all of a sudden. Almost as stupid as thinking he could ever go on a date with anyone here; he was a hunter, born and bred, no matter what else he had in him. The two parts of his life had never been so clearly separated to him before, or maybe it was just that he was seeing the separation clearly for the first time. No matter how this ended, he would have to leave part of himself behind when he graduated.

"Excuse me," he said roughly, and hurried out. The entrance hall was cool and blessedly silent after the heat and noise of the Great Hall. The everlasting icicles on the banisters glinted accusingly at him even as he turned his back on them and hurried down to the dungeons, where he pulled his dress robes off, threw them on the bed, and climbed into the shower, turning the water hot enough to burn. Alone, with steam as his only witness, he allowed himself to finally break down.


	5. Exposed

The rest of break passed with Sam in much the same mood, though he tried to hide it from his friends as best he could. They didn't need his shit on top of theirs.

The first day of the new term, Draco got his Daily Prophet as usual. He glanced through it, then froze about three pages in and blurted, "Holy _shit._ "

"What?" Pansy asked, leaning over to see what had frozen him. Her eyes widened. "Holy shit."

"What's going on?" Blaise asked impatiently.

Draco flattened out the paper on the table. "Hagrid is half-giant," he said faintly.

Sam blinked. "Half- how does that even _work?_ "

Nobody could answer them, but they were all staring at each other in shock. Sam had never met a giant in person, but they were supposed to be nasty creatures, extremely stupid and focused solely on killing. Hagrid had a skewed sense of danger, but he'd never shown signs of being cruel or inept.

He wasn't at his cabin when they reached it that afternoon. Instead, a short woman with dark grey hair was waiting for them. "Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago!" she barked at them.

"Who're you? Where's Hagrid?" Ron called.

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank. I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry repeated loudly, and was it possible he didn’t know?

"He is indisposed. This way, please."

She led them around the pasture in which the Beauxbatons horses were shivering and toward the Forbidden Forest. There was a unicorn tethered to a tree there, shining brightly white even among the snow, and it stamped its golden hooves nervously as they approached.

"Boys stand back," Grubbly-Plank called. "They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it."

She and the girls crept toward the unicorn, leaving the boys against the fence, and Sam was a little miffed they'd come all the way out in such foul weather just to watch as a little less than half of the students on the roster actually had class. The wood poked his back, and for a moment, he was pinned against a tree by a wendigo, John out for the count, Dean firing his flare gun and missing by inches-

Grubbly-Plank started yelling the properties of unicorns back toward them, and Sam blinked himself back to reality. They scrambled to take notes. Despite his earlier irritation, he had to admit it beat dealing with the skrewts yet again.

They didn't see Hagrid at all that week, or the next. Halfway through January was a Hogsmeade weekend, which Sam ducked out of. He could only keep up a happy face for so long, and he relished the idea of spending all day on his own without awkward excuses.

They moved on to Banishing Charms in Flitwick's class. Knowing Theo's continued abysmal performance at Charms, Sam kept an eye on him. After the second time his cushion exploded rather than go soaring away, he put his wand down and quietly waited for Sam to be done.

Irritation rushed through him, and he shoved it back. Theo didn't need the sharp edge of Sam's tongue, especially not when he already knew he was screwing up. He'd never been good at Charms, and Sam had always helped him. He had no one to blame but himself.

It took him a few tries, but Sam could eventually get his cushion to soar across the room and land neatly in the box. The Banishing Charm was a sort of repulsive feeling, blue and violent coming out from his sternum.

"Okay," Sam said resignedly, turning to Theo, "what are you doing?"

Hagrid had returned to class following the Hogsmeade weekend, and he had continued on with unicorns. The last class before the second task, he had two golden unicorn foals waiting for them. "Easier ter spot than the adults. They turn silver when they're abou' two years old, an' they grow horns at aroun' four. Don' go pure white till they're full grown, 'round about seven. They're a bit more trustin' when they're babies, don't mind boys so much. C'mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat 'em if yeh want. Give 'em a few o' these sugar lumps."

Sam took a sugar lump and waited patiently for the others to clear away enough for him to get close. When some of them had lost interest and moved away, Sam came closer and offered the sugar in his hand to the foals.

They promptly screamed and bucked, running as far away on their tethers as they could go, and Sam backed up hastily. Their eyes were rolling.

"What'd yeh _do?_ " Hagrid yelled at him, hurrying forward

"I don't know!" Sam said.

"He just walked up," Millie added.

"Back to the castle, then. The res' o' yeh, stay here. Sam, yeh can get notes later."

Sam turned and trudged away, sounds of the unicorns still panicking echoing behind him.  
***  
 _There was a circle of people in front of him, with bangs and flashes of light coming form inside. Sam tried to move closer, but he couldn't. There was a corpse to the right of him, wearing black and yellow, its face in shadow._

_A white light, and then ghosts - somebody broke through the circle and grabbed the corpse's wrist - a cup soared through the air - they were spinning and whirling - Portkey - and then they were on the grass with teachers running towards them, people in the stands nearby - everyone was cheering-_

He scrambled out of bed and to the bathroom, where he vomited noisily into a toilet. His nose was bleeding heavily, and his head was pounding, and his stomach was churning.

"Sam?" Blaise asked. "What did you see?"

"Someone dies. Bloody. There's a duel - couldn't see who…."

Theo pressed toilet paper to his nose. "Did you see who?"

"No," Sam said, and threw up again. He almost told them what he'd seen, but no - they didn't need to know the details. He wouldn't taint them with death.

Theo said soothingly, "We can warn Dumbledore in the morning. For now, come back to bed."

He did as he was told, and when he woke up the rest of his year was gone. Theo had left a note on the pillow:

_SAM - went to breakfast - you could use the sleep. I'll wake you before the second task if you're not already up._

The entire Great Hall fell silent when Sam walked in. The eerie quiet, punctuated only by owls flapping and demanding food from their owners, continued until Sam made it to the open spot with his friends at the Slytherin table.

"What happened?" he asked Theo, who was staring at a newspaper with his head in his hands.

Theo looked up, and Sam could see tear-tracks. Shit - this was _not good._ "Tell me it isn't true," Theo begged.

"Tell you what isn't true?" Sam asked.

Blaise threw his own paper at him. Sam barely caught it in time. "What-"

"Is. It. True," Blaise growled.

Sam looked down at the paper, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

_**Hunter at Hogwarts!**_ the headline screamed.

With growing dread, Sam read on:

> Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter has recently learned from a reliable source that there is, in fact, a hunter at Hogwarts. He has at least seven dozen confirmed kills of vampires, ghouls, chizpurfles, occamy, and - yes - witches and wizards.
> 
> The young man's family began making a name for itself with the death of its matriarch, Mary Winchester nee Campbell (another ancient hunting family), just over fourteen years ago. In that time John Winchester, Mary's husband, learned to become a fearsome hunter in his own right, and raised his then-four-year-old son Dean and six-month-old Sam as hunters. The trio spread fear across North America in a bloody path that spanned a decade before Sam Winchester's magical talents were made known.
> 
> It is this reputation that brought Sam, a hunter who became blooded at the tender age of eight, across the ocean to Hogwarts. No American school would dare take John Winchester's son, especially after his threats to the witch who came to explain his magical status to the family and to Sam himself.
> 
> In the four years since coming to Great Britain, Winchester has been implicated in a troll attack, the basilisk's Petrifications, and Sirius Black during his time at Hogwarts alone. He continues to hunt over the summers with two lesbian huntresses, whose names are withheld for their own safety, and has been known to carry knives with him at all times. 
> 
> "I'm not sure the boy is stable," Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, a noted Auror, was heard confiding to another member of staff.
> 
> There is no doubt the boy must be taught to control himself and his magic, but a public school is no place for a bloodthirsty merchant of death.

Sam swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of every eye in the hall on him. He looked up at the staff table, desperate for a friendly face or even someone to tell him how to handle this, but there were none to be found.

"Well?" Millie demanded.

"I - I, uh -" Sam stammered, and then he regrouped, took a deep breath, and said, "Yes. I was raised a hunter."

"And the rest of it? You still hunt?" Draco demanded.

"Only things with a body count." Sam looked at his friend's faces and said quietly, "Please. I haven't changed. I'm the same person-"

"You have killed people like us!" Pansy screeched.

"Not-"

"You admitted it!" Blaise snapped, standing. "You just said-"

"I said I hunt things that have killed people!" Sam yelled at him. "I don't go bothering people who are just going about their lives, I have no interest in that! I go after the creatures that are _hurting people._ "

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, okay," Millie said, standing too. "I'll keep that in mind. God. I _trusted_ you!" she yelled, and then she turned and ran from the hall.

"Millie," Sam called helplessly.

"Just go, Winchester," Blaise said. "You're not wanted here."

Sam slowly looked around, hoping for just one sympathetic face, but all of them, even the ones at other tables, even the ones of the people who had held his hand and shared his bed and picked him up when he fell, even the ones whose lives he'd saved and so knew what he was, were made of stone.

He picked up a piece of toast and left the Great Hall.  
***  
Sam had known it would be bad. He really had; wasn't that why he'd kept the secret in the first place? He just hadn't known how bad it could get.

He spent that first day wandering, not wanting to show up to the second task and face the school. When he got back to the dormitory, close to curfew, his bags had been packed and left on a sofa with a note that read, _For the hunter._ The message was clear: he wasn't to sleep in the same room as his friends anymore.

If he'd thought sleeping on a lumpy sofa was bad, it paled in comparison to the next day, when he was roundly ignored by the entire school. This went on for almost a week before people got malicious.

It was small things at first. He couldn't find his pen, or he had to work alone in Defense, or his bag split in the hallway. By the middle of March, once the others were secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't retaliate, things had escalated to the point where Sam couldn't walk down a hallway without being hit with a Tripping Jinx, his bag being ripped open with a hex, his hair being turned various colors, or his clothes being shrunk to be four sizes too small. He used Shield Charms constantly, but so many people played so many 'pranks' some of them were bound to get through. Whenever he walked by a cluster of people, the word 'hunter' was sure to be heard. With his banishment from the dormitory came a banishment from the shower, and so he was forced to rely on the Skurge Charm to clean himself.

Still, what hurt worst was the exclusion from his fellow fourth-years. The entirety of Slytherin had turned their backs on him. He'd never been particularly close with any Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindors, who had at least been kind, were treating him with cold contempt. The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione hadn't changed much in their treatment of him, but Sam rarely interacted with any of them outside of Creatures - where they were far more likely to talk to Hagrid than to him - or in Arithmancy, where there was never a chance for group work. His patience waned, his mood plummeted, and his runs got longer and longer as he tried to force himself to the place in his mind where he couldn't think. He always failed.

He got letters, every morning, all of them full of hate, all of them telling him he didn't deserve to go to school, that he was a monster, that he was unsafe. He got more than one Howler, too, cursing the very air he breathed, and several letters contained undiluted bubotuber pus, snake venom, Stinksap, and other assorted bits of nastiness. He took to opening them with a spell to make sure there was nothing inside and then throwing them into the fire.

Through it all, his sleep was broken by visions and nightmares alike. Now there was no warm body near him, nobody to keep him company, nobody to pass him tissues or toilet paper for his nose. He was left alone to huddle in quiet misery in front of the dead fire. Homework went undone, classwork suffered, meals were skipped, and for the first time in memory, Snape did not seek him out to bully him into doing better.

Sam sought out Dumbledore, to warn him of the Portkey, and was brushed off three times in a row. The Headmaster clearly had more important things to worry about. Helpless to make the man listen to him, he found Cedric Diggory - who also refused to listen to him. "Just run, okay?" Sam yelled after him in the hallway. "And don't touch any trophies!"

A month after the article outing him had been published, a new one appeared, entitled 'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache'. Sam had hoped that with the increased mockery of Harry there would be a corresponding decrease in his own torment - but no such luck. The day after was a Hogsmeade weekend, which Sam skipped once more. He spent the day on the grounds instead, laying by the lake.

The next Care of Magical Creatures class raised his spirits some; though still nobody was talking to him, they were doing nifflers, and the one Sam chose found the most coins. Hagrid gave him a slab of chocolate and whispered, "Keep yer head up, Sam. Yer a good kid." The boost lasted until his robes had grown six sizes on him and turned fuchsia in two separate incidents before dinner, but he did appreciate the attempt with a sort of sad longing.

Moody ran them through hex-deflection exercises at the beginning of April that had several of them injured. Sam got through his with ease, only to hear people spit at him, "Of course, stupid hunter, probably had to do that to kill some grandmother in her nightie."

That decided him, but he restrained himself until he could think it through. The next day, which was a Friday, Sam sat up from the couch. He hadn't slept at all the night before, mulling over his options, but he knew now what he had to do. He scribbled out a note on a piece of parchment and took it with him out onto the grounds, ignoring breakfast in the Great Hall and people already going up to classes.

Everyone had a breaking point, and Sam had reached his.


	6. End of It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG WARNING: This chapter includes gore and a suicide attempt. Skip if that makes you uncomfortable.

Viktor was standing on the ship's deck when he saw a small figure leave the castle. The same one had left before, usually to run around the building a few times. This time he made a beeline for the lake.

"Morning, Viktor," Marcin said in their native Bulgarian, leaning against the rail next to him. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough. You?"

"Same." They shared a quick grin. "Hey - isn't that the hunter kid?"

"Sam Winchester, yes," Viktor said. The very name left a sour taste in his mouth. He should have known, should have guessed - hadn't he been told, the first night they'd met, that the boy had killed a basilisk, and given details the next day?

"What is he doing?"

"I don't know," Viktor said carelessly.

They watched as he stopped by the lake's edge, on the opposite side of the Durmstrang ship. He took out a knife and stabbed it to the trunk of the beech tree, pinning something there.

"Oh _fuck_ ," Viktor blurted when the hunter raised his wand to his own head.

"Is he-"

"I think so, yes." Viktor ran down the plank and toward the hunter. "Sam!" he bellowed.

Either Sam or Viktor was too far, because the next thing he saw was a spray of red blood. He turned back toward the ship, running backwards just long enough to scream, "Get help!"

When he reached the hunter, he stopped and stared dumbly down for a moment. He didn't know how to _help_ ; what had he been thinking, running over here like he could? If it had just been superficial, maybe _then_ he could have used one of the healing spells he'd been taught for Quidditch, but this, _this_ , was beyond the capability of anyone Viktor knew.

There was blood spurting from his neck, in time with the beating of his heart. Half of the connective tissue was blown away, and Viktor could see bone.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.


	7. The Final Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the second set of asterisks is the immediate aftermath of the attempt, when the teachers inform the school of what happened. Much of the chapter is written from other points of view - Hermione's, Snape's, and Cedric's.

Dumbledore's dictum was heard throughout the school, interrupting their first period. Hermione wondered where Sam was; it wasn't like him to skip Arithmancy. Maybe he'd been taken ill.

"All students to their common rooms, please, all students to common rooms. Staff to the teachers' lounge."

Exchanging confused looks, the students went. Hermione joined her friends in the common room, perching on the arm of Ron's chair. Everyone was talking and laughing, gleeful at getting out of classes and speculating wildly on the reason. A seventh-year turned into a canary, provoking laughter again - he was one of the few the Weasley twins hadn't yet caught.

McGonagall climbed through the portrait hole not long after - perhaps ten minutes. When they saw her face, all jokes and laughter abruptly stopped.

She'd been crying.

"Students," she said, voice cracking wildly, "I'm afraid I have some bad news. You are all aware, of course, of Sam Winchester's upbringing. No - no, that's not how I want to do this." She put a hand over her face, sobbed once, and lowered it, setting her jaw. "Sam Winchester, a fourth-year Slytherin, a fourteen-year-old _child_ , was found by the lake today."

"Found?" somebody whispered.

McGonagall's eyes snapped to the culprit. "Yes, Donahue, _found,_ " she spat. "Durmstrang students were on the deck of their ship, or it would have gone much worse for him. He slit his own throat. Madam Pomfrey and two healers from St. Mungo's are working on him now, and it is unclear if he will survive.

"While we did know that you all had reacted less than favorably to the news, we were unaware of the extent to which you had gone to make his life a misery. I want each and every one of you who hexed him, jinxed him, gossiped about him, or otherwise tormented him to know that you played a part in his suicide. If he dies, you will have been responsible for the death of a fourteen-year-old student who has risked his life to save you all _three times_ since he has come here. I believe Potter, Weasley, and Granger can give you those details.

"I am disgusted with the lot of you."

She swept out of the common room, leaving the silence of stunned students in her wake.

The Ravenclaws were laid into by Flitwick, who told them in graphic detail how Sam had faced the basilisk. He described to them the blood on the floor, that the boy's heart had stopped. He told them about how he'd mastered a dozen shield charms his first year because he wanted nothing more than to protect people. He drilled it deep into their skulls that this boy who had risked his life for them had tried to end his own life because of their cruelty.

Sprout talked more about the tragedy of life ending so young. She hadn't spent much time with him outside of class, and so she had no stories of him outside of Herbology. She did make it abundantly clear that it was not behavior she wanted to believe her kind Hufflepuffs were capable of.

Still, none of them compared to Snape. He was the boy's Head of House; he'd convinced him to eat, sleep, take care of himself. He'd pulled him back to reality. He'd fought beside him in the Chamber of Secrets, brought Sirius Black into the castle, kept an eye on him when he'd been getting too thin or wan. This time, the time the boy had _needed_ him to notice, he'd been too caught up in his own problems with the Dark Mark to realize how bad he was.

"Silence," he said, though nobody was speaking. The only time Snape had entered the common room in anybody's memory was to tell them the plan to shut down the school.

"I have grave news," he said, and paused, wondering exactly what to say next. Best to be blunt, probably. "Sam Winchester, whom all of you know as the _child_ you have been tormenting over the past few weeks for the way he was raised, tried to kill himself earlier today because of your treatment." He ignored the gasps and went on ruthlessly. "He was fourteen and has risked his life to save this school more than once. He has _died_ for you, quite literally. He had a basilisk fang pinning him to the floor two years ago.

"And you decide that the way to repay him, when it is made known that he was raised to eliminate threats to others' lives, is to taunt him, bully him, isolate him, and force him to sleep in the common room rather than in the bed provided for him. Students from another school who barely know the boy showed more regard for his life today than did the people he has lived with for four years.

"Sam is currently in the hospital wing, with Madam Pomfrey and two Healers. It is not clear if he will pull through - unfortunately, the problem with child soldiers is that they know where to aim to inflict maximum damage."

Snape was so angry by now he wasn't sure he could control himself, so he was content with ending by saying, "Older students, you are to set a standard of behavior for those younger than you. Your duty is loyalty to this house. Nobody has been loyal to Sam Winchester, these last weeks. Rest assured, when his life has been secured, we _will_ be discussing this again. Prefects, see me in my office after dinner."

After Snape left, the Slytherins bunched up into their year groups. Millie was crying. "Oh, god, Sam," she whispered.

"What do you care? You didn’t talk to him either," Blaise snapped, looking horribly guilty. "And he was half in love with you, too."

"He was not!"

"Oh, please, you should've seen him the night of the Yule Ball. He was jealous as hell."

"Theo too," Crabbe said softly.

"What?" Theo said, taken aback. Crabbe had spoken maybe twice that he could recall.

"Theo - liked you - too," Crabbe said slowly.

"I wasn't sure which of you he wanted to go with," Draco added quietly. "Watching you both for _weeks_ , and then you went with each other."

"Oh, shut up, you were the worst of all of us," Theo snapped. "Throwing his bags out here? Hexing his pens to squirt ink all over him?"

"You didn't try to stop me, did you?"

"Stop!" Pansy yelled. "Stop it, just stop it. Throwing blame isn't going to help."

"Nothing's going to help," Blaise said gloomily.

She took a deep breath. "We can at least write to him, right? Apologize?"

With nothing better to do, they leaned over a piece of parchment.  
***  
 _Sam was floating somewhere. A void, he was pretty sure it was called. It was calm here, peaceful. The calmest, most peaceful place he'd ever been._

 _Then the man from the Chamber of Secrets appeared, along with an older white man in a suit, and the calm and peace were replaced by pain and screaming._  
***  
Dumbledore addressed them all at dinner that night. They expected Sam to recover, he said, but it was a very close call, and he might not recover fully. He was in a coma. 

Viktor, remembering how much of the boy's neck had just been _gone_ , shuddered. He was always surprised by how much abuse Healers could fix, but Healers had their limits. Austeja wrapped an arm around his waist to comfort him.  
***  
 _There was someone else there, now, someone who was taller than both of them and far more fit. "Uriel? Zachariah?" the new one asked uncertainly._

_"What is it, Castiel?" the black man asked, turning to face him. Sam got some respite._

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Teaching the abomination not to throw away his life."_

_"What? But - is that not good?" the new one - Castiel - asked. "If the goal-"_

_"The goal," the white man interrupted, "is none of your concern, Castiel."_

_Sam focused on the new man. Maybe he'd be sympathetic. "Please," he croaked. "Help-"_

_"Be_ quiet _," one of them snarled, swinging a boot into his side. "Castiel, return to your post."_

_Castiel's blue eyes flicked uneasily between the two men and Sam. "You will leave him unharmed?"_

_"Of course," the white one said, an undercurrent of cruelty in his voice. "Pop him back inside his body as soon as the humans are done repairing it. Good as new."_

_"Very well, then," Castiel said. "Uriel, you are needed at the garrison."_

_"Fine," the black man - Uriel, apparently - snapped. "Zachariah?"_

_"I'll finish up here," the white one said. When the other two were gone, Zachariah grinned down at him. "Now let's have some_ real _fun, shall we?"_  
***  
They were near the forest, talking about Hermione, and then Crouch was babbling. Harry told Viktor to stay, that he'd get Dumbledore, and Viktor remember the long-ago warning and said, "No. Ve'll take him vith us."

"But-"

" _Stupefy,_ " Viktor said, and Crouch slumped, unconscious. "Ve vill take him," he repeated.

"Oh, all right," Harry said - and then he was hit in the chest with another Stunner. Viktor wheeled around, but he hadn't gotten halfway turned before he, too, was hit. They were found in the middle of the night by Fang and Hagrid, the madman gone.  
***  
 _Someone else appeared sometime between being eviscerated and being set on fire for the fourth time. "Zachariah."_

_He turned, and Sam was no longer burning. "Joshua."_

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Convincing the Abomination to not throw his life away." It was the same answer he'd given the one called Castiel._

_Sam inched over to see the newcomer. He was older and black, and there was something kind in his face. "This is not convincing, Zachariah. This is punishment."_

_"It's all the same to monkeys."_

_"No. It's not. Orders are orders, Zachariah. You have yours. Go tend to them."_

_Zachariah growled, stomped Sam's face with his heel one last time, and vanished. Joshua was kneeling beside him, hand on his head, before Sam even noticed he'd moved._

_"Lie still," Joshua said gently. "I'm just going to heal you."_

_It didn't take long, maybe a few seconds, but Sam felt his insides shift, and it was enough to make him nauseous. He closed his eyes and swallowed against it._

_"Zachariah is not who I would have chosen to greet you," Joshua told him._

_"Greet me?"_

_"You're in limbo, child. Your soul has been marked, and until your time has come, you cannot pass on to the afterlife."_

_"Marked?"_

_"Look here." Joshua pointed at his chest, and sure enough, there was a mark right over his heart. Something dark shifted beneath the skin. "It's no use trying to die, child. You can't."_

_"Why not? What am I waiting for?"_

_"I can't tell you that. But now, believe me. It's best you forget."_

_The last was spoken in a darker tone. There was a flash of light, and then darkness._  
***  
The day before the final task, Dumbledore stood at dinner. "I have good news for you all," he said brightly. "Sam Winchester has come out of his coma. Madam Pomfrey tells me he should be up and about in a few days' time."

The fourth-year Slytherins, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all breathed sighs of relief. It wouldn't quite be in time for exams, but - well. Allowances would almost certainly be made. Viktor, too, looked relieved; Sam's warning had turned out to be on target, and quite possibly could have saved his life.

The next day, when he was supporting Harry toward the center of the maze, Cedric stopped. He'd survived a blast-ended skrewt, a boggart, a spell that had thrown him into the air, a twelve-foot-long bottomless pit, a troll, the Cruciatus Curse from Krum, and an acromantula, and now he was at the center of the maze, in the clearing, staring at a shining great silver trophy on a dais, Harry at his side. They reached out to take it - and Sam Winchester's words came back to him: _Just run, okay? And don't take any trophies!_

"Harry," he started, but it was too late. Harry had already grasped one side of it. Cedric got a hand on the Triwizard Cup himself just as they started spinning and landed heavily in a graveyard. They both fell over, and the Cup fell away.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

Cedric shook his head, panic rising. "Winchester warned me," he muttered. "Where's - Harry, come on, we have to get the Cup back!" He grabbed Harry and hauled him to standing.

"Wait! Are you sure this isn't just part of the task?"

"If it is we'll come back and do it! Winchester wouldn't've warned me if it wasn't imp-"

 _"Kill the spare,_ " he heard, and turned in time to see a figure raise a wand against him. He grabbed Harry's robe with one hand and the Cup with the other. He was wrenched away, seeing green light flash by him, and he landed on the facedown on grass with a handful of black fabric.

Harry had not come with him.

He raised himself up to all fours and spat out dirt. McGonagall, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Sprout, and Flitwick were running toward him.

"Harry!" he screamed. "Harry's back there! Harry - you have to get to Harry."

"What's wrong with Harry?" Dumbledore asked urgently.

"Cup's a Portkey - landed in a graveyard" - Cedric shoved the fabric in his hand out - "tried to grab him, but the robe ripped - please, help him, _save him_ -"

"Calm yourself, Diggory," McGonagall said sharply.

Cedric took a shuddering breath. "Harry. Please, Professors - I'm sorry, I tried - if I'd been any slower I would've been killed - go help him, _please_."

"The Cup is a Portkey?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

Cedric nodded frantically. "Sam Winchester - he warned me _ages_ ago, told me not to take any trophies - I forgot - please, sir, you have to help him."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, raising his voice, "I would suggest you call the Aurors. Now - Cedric - where, exactly, were you?"

"I don't-"

"Just think of it," Dumbledore said, meeting his eyes - and then he straightened. "Cornelius, when the Aurors get here, have them take the Portkey. Pomona, tend to your student."

"And you?" McGonagall asked.

"I am going to find _our_ student. Take care of the school, Minerva."

Then he was gone, sprinting away with a speed surprising for an old man. Professor Sprout was holding his wrist. "Let go, Cedric, it's okay," she said kindly.

He suddenly realized he was still holding the Triwizard Cup, and he dropped it like it was on fire.

"Cedric! Ced! Let me through - let me _through_ , I said-"

"Dad!" Cedric called, scrambling to his feet.

His father grabbed him up in a hug. "You did it, Ced, I knew you could-"

"No, Dad, wait," Cedric said, pushing away. "The Cup is a Portkey - he tried to kill me - the 'spare', he called me - Harry's still back there, Dumbledore went to find him."

His father held him at arm's length. "Who tried to kill you?" his mother asked shrilly.

"I think," McGonagall intervened, "we had better have the whole story. And - er - someone should find Black…he does have a temper, and if he learned we kept his godson from him he may _actually_ be pushed to commit murder."

Aurors came and went. Dumbledore reappeared with Harry Potter and the news that Alastor Moody had been Barty Crouch Jr. Krum and Fleur were recovered from the maze.

The panic and confusion eventually subsided. With Karkaroff in the wind, it was left to Dumbledore and Maxime to decide what to do about the Tournament, but they were both busy with their respective students. That could be left for another night. For now, Dumbledore sent everyone back up to the castle. Cho, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley remained behind - Cho for Cedric, Hermione and Ron for Harry and for Krum. Sirius Black, too, remained. He had a hand on Harry's shoulder.

One Auror returned. The rest, he said, had been overpowered. He'd escaped only by running for the edge of the Apparition barrier they'd put up and leaving as soon as it was clear they couldn't win.

In all of this, one thing was clear: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned.

Fudge, however had other ideas. "A gathering of remnants," he claimed, even though Dumbledore, Harry, and the Auror who had returned had all sworn that Voldemort had returned. He left shortly after.

Dumbledore looked at the students. "All of you, to the hospital wing," he ordered.


	8. Survival

Sam _hurt._ Every inch of him felt like it had been pounded with mallets. His head was spiking pain, and his throat was burning.

He lay there for a while, not thinking much at all, when voices reached him. "He can't be back!"

"He is, Mum!"

"Harry, I'm so sorry-"

"Not your fault, Cedric, I know you tried."

"Ced, I'm so glad you're okay!"

Above it all, Pomfrey's voice cut through: "Out of my way, please, out of my way" - a swishing of curtains - "finally awake, are you?"

Sam opened his eyes to mere slits. Pomfrey was looking down on him disapprovingly, holding bottles hooked through her fingers. The conversations abruptly halted.

Pomfrey raised his bed with a flick of her wand. "Drink," she said firmly, handing him cup after cup of vile-tasting potion. He drank them all down, and when he was finished, she said, "You're going to have a nasty scar for the rest of your life, young man. What on earth were you thinking?"

Sam looked down. "Sorry," he offered weakly.

She sniffed and capped the bottles. "I should say so."

Once she'd bustled away, closing the curtain behind her, Hermione poked her head in through the curtain. "Sam?"

"Hermione," he said weakly.

"I'm glad you're awake," she said enthusiastically.

The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by Weasleys, the Triwizard champions, and Sirius Black. "Sam, mate, you saved my life tonight," Cedric said earnestly.

"That was tonight?" Sam said vaguely. "The, uh, the forest? Or, no, that was Viktor - you were the graveyard?"

"Yeah," Cedric said. "Harry and I both."

"Then I'm glad you survived," he said, aching with exhaustion. He wanted answers, though. "How'd they get you to take the cup?"

"It was the Triwizard Cup," Cedric said. "At the end of the third task."

"The third - holy hell, how long was I out?"

"Almost two months," Ginny said.

Sam counted, feeling like his mind was made of molasses. "So it's - um - May?"

"The twenty-fourth," Harry said.

"Twenty-fifth," Hermione corrected, "it's just gone one."

"Has it really?" Ron asked, sounding amazed. "Blimey."

Sam had missed his fifteenth birthday.

"All of you, out!" Pomfrey barked, returning. "You all need rest - if you weren't injured tonight, go back to your common rooms. The rest of you, to your beds."

The other champions returned to their assigned places. Their families smiled down at them and left, as did Ron and Hermione. Eventually, it was only the four of them and Sam, whose privacy curtain Pomfrey had removed.

There was a space of about five minutes after Pomfrey retired that there was quiet, and then Harry asked, "Is there any one of us you _didn't_ see die this year?"

Sam took a deep breath. "The first task, Fleur went up like dry tinder. I screamed at her to duck - I'd been forbidden from sharing anything with her. Viktor was Stunned in the forest after you ran to get help for some madman. He was the one I saw die that time. Cedric -well. Cedric was to die tonight. You're the only one, funny enough - I guess it was you I saw getting Cedric's corpse out of the graveyard."

"You say zat like eet eez commen-pless," Fleur said.

"Fleur, the only thing I ever _see_ is death. And I don’t know if you know this, but I'm a _hunter._ I was trained at seven and forced to kill at eight-"

"Forced?" Cedric interrupted.

"Yeah, forced," Sam said quietly. "It was - all I wanted was to play soccer. Football, I guess it is over here. I didn't want to risk my life every day - who in their right mind would? But John had his ways."

"John?" Viktor asked.

"My dad. It's - it's easier, for me, if I don't think about him like that," Sam admitted. "I mean, can you imagine growing up magic in a hunter family?" He switched topics again. "Anyway. I'm a hunter. Corpses are everyday to me. If they look human - or if they _are_ human, at the time we kill them - it's just...something else to avoid thinking about, you know? What's one more nightmare?"

"And you are Seer," Viktor said.

"Yeah. And I only ever see death. It's blood and rot and destruction, playing whenever it chooses to, and I just needed it to stop, you know? I needed to not see the people I care about dying bloody every time I closed my eyes. It wore me down. But, uh, that's enough of that. What happened tonight? I could only see pieces."

They filled him in. Sometime after they stopped talking, they all dozed off.

Sam jerked awake with a nosebleed, a headache, and a nightmare flashing in front of him. He slid out of bed and padded softly to the wall, where he knew paper towels were kept. His knees buckled under him from the short walk, and he leaned against the wall to steady himself, trying not to cry and failing.

" _Qu'est-ce?_ " someone whispered, sitting up. _"Qui est la?"_

Fleur, Sam realized after a minute. He knew enough Latin to take a rough stab at the meaning: _What?_ and _Who's there?_ "Nothing," he whispered harshly. "Go back to sleep."

She came after him instead. "Your nose - eet eez bleeding. Should I get Pom-free?"

"No, no," Sam said hastily. "It's just a vision."

"These visions - they make your nose bleed?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted.

"What deed you see?"

"My brother's death," Sam said quietly.

A pause, and then, "Do you ever see, eh, happy zings?"

"No," Sam said. "No, it's only death and blood. I never see anything good."

"I am sorry."

"So am I," Sam breathed. "Fleur, really, go back to sleep. Just need to wait out the nosebleed and headache."

"Eet pains you, to see so?"

"Yeah." Sam pressed a clean square of the towel to his nose. "Fleur, really, it's fine. Go back to bed."

"What are you doing up?" Pomfrey hissed, looming over them. "Winchester, are you bleeding?"

"Sorry," Sam said quietly. "Another vision. Guess my reprieve's over."

"And what did you see?"

"My brother's death."

"How did he die?"

Sam looked away and didn’t answer. Something had tied him down to a table and removed his organs, one by one, taking its time. It was astonishing how many organs a person could lose without dying, and amazing just how much blood a body could hold.

"Sam, look at me," someone was saying. "Samuel Winchester, you look me in the eyes right now."

Sam glanced up. Pomfrey was right in front of him, face very close, and he could see a very fine scar on her cheek. "What?" he croaked.

"You lost track of things," Pomfrey said briskly, sitting back on her heels. Sam realized they were both on the ground. "At least it confirms this isn't mere depression."

"What-"

"The Muggles call it neurasthenia or shell-shock," she told him.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. We call it Trauma-Induced Sickness."

"So there's a cure?" he asked hopefully.

"Not quite. The symptoms can be managed, and in eight times out of ten time fixes it all, but the mind is a funny thing. We'll discuss it more in the morning." She stood and pulled Sam up with her, far stronger than she appeared. "Back to bed, now."

They did discuss it in the morning, as well as potions that would help, and Sam was told that while there wasn't any on hand Snape would brew it for him to take on a weekly basis.

Snape was his first visitor. He sat next to Sam's bed, considered him, and then said, "You should have come to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry. Your potion will be ready the day after term ends."

"Thank you."

They didn't speak again, just sat in silence for five minutes or so, and then Snape squeezed his shoulder and left.

Pomfrey dipped in for a moment to pass him a few cards. "I kept them until you woke up," she told him.

There were apologies from Hermione, his friends, Ginny, and Fred and George Weasley. Luna Lovegood, whom he'd met as one of Ginny's friends on the train to Hogwarts back in September, had sent him a magazine with a note telling him that many people found enjoyment in it.

Before he could flip through it, Dumbledore appeared. "Ah," he said, "the Quibbler."

"You know it, sir?"

"I do. It is one of the few magazines that is almost entirely made of conspiracy theories and edited by a family that believes all of them."

"Is that so?"

"It is." Dumbledore smiled benignly. "We have some things to talk about, you and I. First, what happened. You are exceptionally lucky, and I hope you realize that."

"Yes, sir," Sam said quietly.

"Second, the summer. It has come to my attention you are suffering from the effects of being forced into hunting at such a young age. I don’t believe more hunting is the remedy."

He paused, waiting for an answer, and Sam's heart sank as he said, "No, sir."

"To that end, Lianne and Christina are no longer being granted temporary custody over you in the summer. There are still enough allies in the Ministry for me to have had you assigned to the Weasleys, whom you already know."

"No - but -" Sam spluttered.

"You can still write them," Dumbledore said gently. "If they are nearby, you may see them. You may not hunt."

One look at Dumbledore's face told him argument would be pointless. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

"One last thing, I'm afraid. Whose deaths have you foreseen?"

Sam took a breath. "Fleur and Cedric - who have already passed by with no harm. Sirius Black. Millicent Bulstrode, though she looks to be seventeen or so, so there's time to save her. Lianne and Christina, repeatedly. My brother Dean. Hundreds of strangers."

"Have you seen your own?"

"No."

"How does Sirius Black die?"

"A duel. In a chamber, with an arch on a dais and stairs all around. He yells at someone 'Is that all you got, cousin?', and then he gets hit with a Killing Curse, falls into the arch, and disappears."

Dumbledore's eyes widen slightly. "And Miss Bulstrode?"

"Her throat is slit, and I've got a hand there to stop the bleeding and I'm screaming for help."

"Lianne and Christina?"

"The first time was a werewolf, and then vampires. Then it became ghouls. Then succubi. I warn them every time, and so far they've pulled through all right."

"And you said hundreds of strangers, correct?" Sam nodded. "Do they all die the same way?"

"No. Some of them are shot, or stabbed, or disemboweled, or pinned to a tree, or blown apart, or drowned, or-"

"I understand," Dumbledore interrupted gently. He stood. "I shall take no more of your time. There are people who wish to see you."

When he opened the door, the other seven fourth-year Slytherins filed in. For a moment, they all just looked at each other, and then the words burst forth:

"I'm sorry-"

"-shouldn't've-

"-wish I could-

"-such a-"

"-Sam, I can't believe-"

"- _so sorry-_ "

"Guys!" Sam said, holding up a hand. "One at a time?"  
***  
Life returned to normal just in time for Sam to take his exams. He did perfectly on everything that had been covered before March and abysmally on everything that had come after, but his professors merely smiled and told him to catch up over the summer. Snape didn’t make him sit an exam at all, merely passed him at the highest level with a small note: _Determined by previous grades._ Trelawney, of course, could no more fail a Seer at Divination than she could fly.

The night of the Leaving Feast, Sam joined the other fourth-year Slytherins at the table. There were still tender spots among them, raw bits of exposed nerve they carefully skirted around, issues of trust and lies, but by and large they were friends again.

Ginny found him just before the meal began. "Mum wants me to tell you she'll meet us all outside the train," she said.

"Thanks, Ginny."

"What, no hunting this summer?" Blaise asked.

Sam shook his head. "After - everything - I've been banned from it. At least for this summer, until I'm more stable. They've put me with the Weasleys instead."

"That should be...interesting," Theo said diplomatically.

Sam shrugged. "Ginny's not so bad, especially after the basilisk."

"Was what you told us what actually happened?" Draco asked keenly. Next to him, Viktor and Urte stopped talking to the seventh-years they'd become friends with to listen in.

"No," Sam admitted. "Not even close. It was something Dumbledore cooked up, to keep me being a hunter from getting around."

"So what happened?" Pansy asked eagerly.

Viktor poked Marcin and said something in Bulgarian, which made him lean closer in interest.

Sam shook his head and half-smiled. "It started with the first Petrification…."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go with Year Four! This marks well over 100,000 words written from May 28-June 23.
> 
> Once more, I can make no promises about when Year Five will be up.


End file.
